Elsewhere
by the road to damascus
Summary: It’s an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they’re not yours, and you don’t know how long they’re staying. Troypay.
1. Prologue

Title: Elsewhere

Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying. Troypay.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, etc, etc, so on and so forth.

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**Prologue**

_January, 2021_

Sharpay sits at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee. The New York Times lies in front of her, folded open to the crossword puzzle. She has completed five words and is losing interest; it doesn't seem that important. The morning light is gray and harsh, a quiet drizzle of rain sending crystal trickles down the window.

Outside, school children have formed a bedraggled line in front of the bus stop, their brightly colored raincoats vivid against the mid-winter bleakeness of the houses across the street. Sharpay turns away. It hurts to see that.

She wonders where the boys are now, hoping they're all right. Really, she should have gone back to work today, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Still, what good has it done to have stayed here? I have to move on with my life, she tells herself. I can't dwell in the past two months indefinitely. I knew this moment was coming. If I wasn't going to be able to handle it, I should have realized that back at the beginning.

Who am I kidding, she thinks. There was nothing else I could have done.

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Just a start, I know. Tell me what you think!

margaret


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Elsewhere

Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying. Troypay.

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**Chapter One**

It had been a dark and stormy November night, the emergency room case load unusually slow for a Friday. Still, the little boy in the corner had been waiting for over three hours, and he knew his brother needed help. He sat quietly, observing the doctors as they went by. Which one looked like they might be sympathetic? Which one could he ask to help him? Finally, he settled on the young-looking one, the woman whose curly blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He liked the way she smiled, and thought she probably wouldn't brush him off. Rising to his feet, he started over to the counter where she was. He stood next to her, taking a deep breath. He had to ask for help. What should he say?

"Excuse me. Excuse me, ma'am?" His voice sounded small, even to him. Please, he thought, let her hear me. Her eyes met his right away, just as he'd hoped they would.

"Can I help you, honey?" Sharpay smiled at the little boy in front of her. Small and skinny, his blond hair in need of a cut, he shifted from one battered sneaker to the other, looking like a 'Save the Children' ad. There was a beseeching expression in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

The boy nodded. _I'm eight_, he told himself. _I'm eight years old. I'm not a little baby anymore. I can do this._

"My. . . my brother needs help," he managed. "He's real sick."

"Okay," Sharpay said. "Have you been waiting a long time?"

Again, he nodded. "About three hours."

Sharpay looked surprised. "Three hours? Did your mother or father check in with the receptionist?"

Inside his ill-fitting jacket, the little boy squirmed uncomfortably. "My mother's not here," he explained. "She's at work. She doesn't know I took Andy down here."

"What's the matter with him?" Sharpay asked. "Did she know he was sick?"

He shook his head. "He was sick for a few days, but not this sick. Now he says that it hurts when he breathes, and he's saying things that don't make sense."

"How old is he?" Sharpay asked.

His eyes met hers. "Five."

"How old are you?"

"Eight," he whispered.

"What's your name?"

"Kevin."

"I'm Dr. Sharpay," Sharpay said. She felt 'Dr. Bolton' was too intimidating, especially for this little boy. "Kevin, show me where your brother is."

Andy was small for five, a slip of a thing, Troy's grandmother would have observed. His eyes were huge and blue, luminous despite the glaze of fever. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his breathing ragged and choking. Pneumonia, Sharpay thought. It was common enough among kids who never got enough to eat, who slept in unheated rooms and caught every cold that came along. There was another little boy with Andy, no more than two or three. He, too, was blond, with eyes as dark as milk chocolate. His expression was dubious as he regarded this strange new doctor. "Are you going to help him?"

"I am," Sharpay said, with certainty. She lifted Andy from the hard plastic chair and settled him into her arms. "Come with me, you two, and we'll go into a treatment room."

The "rooms" were actually partitions, sectioned off from one another by pastel colored curtains. Andy didn't resist as Sharpay settled him onto the bed and unzipped his coat, easing his arms out of the sleeves. Kevin and the other little boy watched silently. Kevin was biting his lip.

Sharpay smiled at them. "Sit down, you two." She indicated the two uncomfortable-looking chairs in the corner of the partition. "I'm just going to take a look at him."

Andy's skin was searingly hot. It prickled into goose bumps as Sharpay removed his shirt. He grimaced.

"Sorry, baby," Sharpay murmured. "But this won't take too long." She let him lie back against the pillows as she pulled a blanket around him. She wished she knew how much he was aware of. She was willing to bet it was more than she thought. Kevin remained impassive, his brow furrowed into an expression of worry. The other little boy appeared on the other side of the bed as she listened to Andy's heart. "You're helping my brother," he observed. "What's your name?"

"Sharpay," she said. "What's yours?"

"Zac," he said. "He's real sick, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Sharpay admitted. "He's pretty sick."

Kevin looked up, terrified. "Is he. . . Is he. . . Is he gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," Sharpay assured him. "He'll be fine."

Kevin sighed. "Will he have to go in the hospital?"

"He might," Sharpay allowed, thinking unless your mother shows up and proves that she's fit to take care of him, which I highly doubt.

"I don't know if we can afford it." One of Kevin's cuticles was bleeding. His nails were red-rimmed and sore-looking. His eyes were trained on the floor. "I don't think we can."

"That's all right," Sharpay told him. "This hospital takes people who don't have insurance." Even if they didn't, she thought illogically, I'd make them. Because I have to help these little boys.

Kevin looked worried. "My mother doesn't know I took him here," he said. "What if she gets mad at me?"

"I'll talk to her," Sharpay said. "Someone will talk to her. When she understands how sick Andy is, she won't mind."

She thought she saw Kevin's lip quiver. "But. . . but what if she gets mad at me for letting him get this sick?" he asked.

"You didn't let him get this sick," Sharpay assured him.

Kevin's voice quavered. "But what if I did? I knew that he was sick. I made him go to school yesterday."

"Kevin, that probably wasn't what made him this sick. Did he go to school today?"

Kevin shook his head. "None of us did."

"Does your mother know that?" The question slipped out before Sharpay could check it. That was the wrong thing to say, she thought.

"She doesn't," Kevin whispered. "I haven't decided how to explain it to her yet."

Sharpay nodded. "She wasn't home when you decided Andy was too sick to go to school?"

Kevin nodded. "She was already at work. I didn't want to leave Tay by himself. He was real sick."

"I would have been there," Zac pointed out.

Kevin sighed. "Yeah, but it was my responsibility."

"Your 'sponsibility," Zac agreed. "I can be 'sponsible."

"Do you know what time your mother will be back?" Sharpay asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No."

All that responsibility and he has no idea what time his mother comes home from work, Sharpay thought. Something's wrong here.

"We should call her," Sharpay said. "She'll worry if you're not home when she gets there."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah," he agreed, half-heartedly.

"Do you know where she is?" Zac's eyes were large and hopeful. "She told you?"

Kevin looked terrified. "Zac!" he exclaimed.

"Don't you know where your mother works?" Sharpay inquired, her voice even, non-judgmental. "Do you know the number?"

"No," Kevin admitted. "They don't let her have phone calls where she works."

"Okay." Sharpay nodded, thinking of sweatshops. "That's all right. We'll call your house. Can you give me the number?"

Kevin flushed. "The phone. . . The phone. . . The phone is disconnected," he whispered. He looked like he was shaking. Sharpay longed to put an arm around him, to tell him that he didn't have to be ashamed. Not everything was his responsibility, not everything was his fault.

"Kevin," she said, understandingly, "it's all right."

He swallowed hard. "I told her to pay the bill," he said, "but sometimes she forgets." His skin grew a few shades paler. "She's a good mother, though. She loves us. She doesn't want anyone to split us up. But I have to do my job, too. I have to watch Andy and Zac."

"You do a good job," Sharpay said. "I can tell."

Kevin shook his head, "No, I don't," he whispered. "I didn't do a good job at all."

"I can tell that that isn't true," Sharpay assured him. "Don't worry."

"I am worried," Kevin murmured. Sharpay hoped she'd heard him clearly. The poor thing, she thought. What's his life like?

Zac tugged at Sharpay's lab coat. "Do you got any kids?" he asked her.

Sharpay smiled. "No. Not one."

"If you had kids, would you ever go away and leave them?" Zac persisted. Kevin's eyes grew wide.

"Zac. . ."

"Of course not," Sharpay said.

"See?" Zac shot a knowing look at Kevin, who sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"Kevin," Sharpay asked, a chill of realization running down her spine, "I have to ask you an important question."

Kevin bit his lip, folding his arms across his chest. "I might not be able to answer it," he told her. "There are some questions I can't answer."

"It's all right," Sharpay said. "But I'd like you to try to answer it for me, because, it's very important. It's about your mother."

Kevin flinched. "That might not be. . . I mean. . . well, I don't know if I can. . . if I can. . . I can't tell you anything."

"Yes you can," Zac said. "You needs to tell her."

"Tell me what?" Sharpay asked.

"I. . . I . . . I think. . . is there a bathroom anywhere around here?" Kevin felt bile rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Are you going to throw up?" Sharpay asked him.

He nodded.

"The bathroom's over there," Sharpay told him. "Do you need any help?"

Kevin shook his head as he raced for the door. He slammed it shut behind him, not even bothering to turn on the light. The world spun around him, spots of light flickering in front of his eyes. He'd had this headache for the past five days, on and off. Now, a pulsing rhythm throbbed inside his skull, the pressure building. God, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell that doctor anything.

There was a knock on the door. "Kevin?" called a voice, "are you all right in there?"

"Yeah," he managed. "I'll be out in a second." He rose shakily to his feet, feeling along the wall for the light switch. He blew his nose and flushed the toilet, rinsed his mouth out with water from the sink. There was a mirror affixed to the wall, and he studied his reflection for a moment. Two eyes, dark circled and scared, met his. "Tell," a voice inside his head whispered.

"Don't tell!" screamed the army of demons who ruled him.

"I can't tell," Kevin whispered. "I'm sorry."

Kevin took a deep breath, straightened up and, twisting the doorknob, stepped out into the bright lights of the emergency room corridor. Sharpay was waiting for him. He looked up at her.

"Kevin," she said, kneeling down so that her eyes met his, "I know this isn't easy for you." She put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the fragileness of his body, the way the bones moved under the skin. "But, whatever is going on, you're going to have to tell someone at some point. It isn't good for you to keep something like this inside. It hurts you, and it hurts Andy and Zac."

Kevin took a deep breath. "If I tell you," he said, "will you tell anybody else?"

Sharpay sighed. "Honey, it depends on what it is. There are laws that say I have to tell certain things to people whose job is to help with certain problems. If I don't, it's breaking the law."

"If I don't tell you, you won't have to break the law," Kevin reasoned.

"If you don't tell me, Kevin, I won't know what to do," Sharpay told him. "I'll have to do what I think is best, and it might be the wrong thing. I don't want to hurt you, honey. I want to figure out what the best way is to help you. If you don't tell me the story, I won't be able to do that."

Kevin nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay," he said. "But, if I tell you, you can't split us up. Can you promise?"

"I promise," Sharpay said, ready to do everything in her power to do what he asked. "I promise you I'll try as hard as I can to keep you from being split up."

"Thank you," Kevin murmured. He took a deep breath. "We haven't. . . I mean, we don't. . . We don't know where my mother is."

"What do you mean?" Sharpay asked him. "Has she been gone a long time?"

"Since last Sunday," Kevin admitted. "Sometimes she goes away for a long time." He paused. "She always comes back, though."

"And you're in charge of Andy and Zac when she's gone?" Sharpay asked.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah."

"Kevin," Sharpay said, "thank you for telling me. It was incredibly brave of you."

His lower lip quivered. "I . . . I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. They'll split us up now, I know."

Overcome with a need to protect him, Sharpay put her arms around Kevin. She felt his body stiffen, then relax. "I'll do whatever I can to keep that from happening."

Back in the cubicle, a nurse had started an IV in Andy's arm and given Zac a coloring book. Zac looked up as Kevin walked into the room. "Did you tell her?"

Kevin took a deep breath. "I told her."

Zac looked scared. "Are they going to split us up?"

Kevin studied the floor. "I hope not." Unburdened of his terrible secret, he felt suddenly weak and sank into a chair. Sharpay squinted at him, laying a cool hand against his damp forehead.

"Are you all right?" There was concern in her voice, worry even. Shoot, she thought. Shoot, shoot, shoot. The one thing she'd learned in the emergency room was that you should never become attached to any patient, no matter what the situation. Still, the raw vulnerability of these three little boys was awe-inspiring. She had to do something to protect them.

A hospital social worker had been called, and was appointed temporary guardian. She listened to Andy's labored breathing, the coughing that racked his body and sent him into spasms of pain. "You're going to have to admit him, aren't you?" she asked.

Sharpay nodded. "Yeah, I think that would be the best idea." She turned to Kevin. "Andy might have to spend a few days in the hospital, because of how sick he is. Even if your mother were here, I'd put him in the hospital, because we can give him more medicine and different tests that will help him get better faster."

Kevin nodded. The social worker, Mary, smiled at him. "Kevin," she said, "it actually gives us some time to find a foster home that would take the three of you. That can be hard to do."

Kevin swallowed. "Okay," he murmured. Zac, who was playing with Ritz Bits on the chair next to him, put an arm around his older brother.

"Don't worry, Kev," he said. "We'll be all right. Like you said. If we just stay together, than at least we got somebody."

Sharpay and Mary exchanged a glance. It wasn't hard to imagine this little boy comforting himself with those words, sustaining himself through endless days and nights when he wasn't sure what would happen next. "Dr. Bolton," Mary said, "can I talk to you a moment?"

"Sure." Sharpay stepped outside the cubicle, drawing the curtain shut. She was expecting the worst, but she didn't want to hear the words spoken aloud. "What's the matter?"

Mary sighed. "I can tell these three need to stay together," she said. "But it's not that simple."

"Nothing ever is," Sharpay sighed.

"Not one foster home in the county has an opening," Mary said. "The only possible place to put them would be to board them in Trevorford for as long as it took to get an opening, and even then, they aren't going to end up together."

Sharpay sucked in her breath. "Oh, lord. Kevin- I mean, I just get the impression that something like that would kill him. He's scarcely holding up as it is. And Trevorford? The juvenile delinquent center? For an eight year old and a three year old?"

"I'd take them in myself, if I could," Mary said.

Sharpay paused. "This is probably the most far-fetched idea on earth," she said, "but Troy and I were approved by the state to adopt a child at some point. . ."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mary exclaimed.

"Thanks," Sharpay smiled. "But my brother had a car accident six months ago, and we had my niece with us until last month. We haven't moved any further in adoption proceedings, so now we're open. Do you think we could keep the boys with us a few days- at least until Andy gets out of the hospital?"

"If you're already approved to adopt," Mary said, "I think we could justify it. I'll have to make a few phone calls. Were you approved through a state agency?"

"Yes." Sharpay asked a nurse to keep an eye on the boys while she slipped to the telephone to answer questions for Mary. When she returned to the cubicle, it was with a triumphant smile on her face.

Kevin didn't look up. "I guess if they have to split us up, they have to split us up." He coughed, blinking hard. "I'll be all right. I told Andy and Zac that they'll be okay."

"I'll be okay," Zac echoed, his brown eyes solemn.

"Kevin," Sharpay knelt and put her hand on his shoulder. "Nobody's going to split you up."

"What?" his eyes met hers, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing. "They're not?"

"No," Sharpay assured him. "See, we've pulled a few strings, and you guys are going to stay with my husband and me for a few days, at least until a more permanent placement can be found."

"Really?" Kevin was incredulous. "I mean, are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Sharpay brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes. "I wouldn't tell you that unless I was completely sure."

"Thank you," Kevin murmured, feeling dizzy. "Thank you so much."

Sharpay called her husband. She had a lot of explaining to do.

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I realize Sharpay is all kinds of out of character. Honestly, Gabriella is more fitting for the part, but vom. Anyway, review!

margaret


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Elsewhere

Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying. Troypay.

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**Chapter Two**

Troy Bolton was tall and muscular, his light brown hair a bit too long and hanging into his eyes. His bright blue eyes were piercing, yet also soft and understanding, his mouth always ready to crinkle into a smile. Troy was one of those people possessed of a personality so laid-back that practically nothing surprised him. Still, he wished his wife had told him what he had to come to the hospital for. Troy strode into the emergency room in his battered jean jacket and flannel shirt, going up to the front desk in search of Sharpay.

"Troy!" Sharpay's smallness was accentuated next to her husband's height. She was like a sprite, with a head of luminous blonde hair, a round face and rosebud mouth. Her wide brown eyes shone like glass pierced with sunlight, sparkling and knowing. Sharpay moved with a graceful self-assuredness, her muscles supple and capable. Troy grinned. She was cute in scrubs.

"Troy, you aren't going to believe this, but. . . well. . ." Sharpay took a deep breath. She paused for a moment. Then the story bubbled out of her, Troy's eyes growing wider and wider with each new revelation.

"God," he murmured, several times. "That's unbelievable." When Sharpay explained to him what she intended to do, he nodded. "I think we should help, if we can." Then he paused. "Shar, what did you just suggest?"

Sharpay smiled. "Come with me," she said. "You'll see what I mean."

Troy's first impression of the boys was that he had seen better-nourished looking kids in poverty stricken areas of Appalachia. "Shoot," he murmured to himself. "Three cents a day and you can feed this child for a year."

He wasn't exaggerating. Kevin, especially, was painfully skinny, almost gaunt, although this was due to bone structure as well as poor diet. His blond hair curled gently around his forehead and the nape of his neck, badly in need of cutting. It was the only thing about him that was childish.

Kevin had the eyes of someone who had been in a war zone, dark-circled and haunted. Sitting with his dirty hands clasped between his knees, his body hunched over as if against a cold wind, he felt as if a black hole had opened just below his lungs. It was taking all of his resistance not to be sucked into it. He wasn't sure how long he could last; all his energy was being drained away and a weakness was settling over him. He wanted to sleep for a long time, but was scared of what would happen if he did.

Andy wasn't asleep, but he was lying with his eyes closed. The lights were too bright in here. As long as Kevin was around, he'd be all right. Because Kevin always knew what to do, Andy thought, hazily. He wasn't aware of much, except the aching in his chest and his struggle to breathe.

There was an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and his skin was flushed a deep red, but there was still something beautiful, almost angelic, about Andy. His eyes were deep blue, Crayola crayon blue, almost. In spite of everything, they held a calm, little Buddha expression. He was someone, Sharpay thought, who would never be able to hide what he was thinking. His eyes would always give him away.

There was a shyness about him, something tentative. Maybe it was the combination of his eyes and his mouth, which was small and delicate, the lower lip fuller than the upper. He looked like he expected someone to hurt him, but seemed surprised when anyone did. A nurse would insert a needle in his arm to draw blood or give him a shot, and he'd open his eyes, startled and confused. "Ooh," one nurse murmured to Sharpay as she left. "I'm not going to be able to live with myself for the rest of the night."

Zac was the sturdiest of the three. Small and stalwart, he had been holding himself together with quiet resolve, a resolve that didn't come from being too young to understand what was going on. He had long lashed brown eyes and a mischievous smile, a round baby face and golden blond hair. Sharpay lifted Zac out of his chair and held him in her lap, feeling his small body relax against hers, his head tucked beneath her chin. He fingered the plastic ID that was clipped to her pocket, mesmerized. "This is Zac," she said to Troy, "and Kevin, and this is Andy."

Troy smiled. He liked kids, but he wasn't sure what to say right now. "Hi. I'm Troy." He sat down next to Sharpay. "Are you guys hungry?"

"Um." Kevin studied a hangnail. He was hungry. The last time he'd eaten was Thursday night. But he didn't want to say that to Troy or Sharpay. He didn't trust them. There wasn't a reason to. Kevin had learned that no one was ever nice to you unless they wanted something. He didn't have any idea what Sharpay and Troy wanted.

Zac, however, was less inhibited. "Yes!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly and throwing his arms around Sharpay's neck. "We are really hungry!" Sharpay and Troy exchanged a smile.

"Really hungry?" Troy asked.

"Really really hungry," Zac assured him.

"We're okay, though," Kevin whispered, quickly.

"No we aren't," Zac corrected him.

"Do you guys want to go to McDonald's?" Troy asked.

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"Those kids ate like they had never seen food before," Troy told Sharpay later. "I'm not kidding. I think they were actually worried that I might take it away from them before they were done."

"God knows what their lives have been like," Sharpay agreed.

"I wish I knew what to do." Troy sighed.

It was much later. Troy had taken Kevin and Zac home and gotten them to bed. Sharpay had decided to spend the night at the hospital with Andy. He was five years old, Sharpay thought, and too young to be there alone. Knocked out with powerful antibiotics and fever reducer, she doubted he had any idea where he was, and was probably terrified. If someone had asked Andy, he would have admitted that part of him was.

The other part of him though, the part of him that was vaguely sensing, through the medication, the pain and the fever, that something else was going on in the world around him, wasn't scared at all. What was scary, Andy thought, waking up in the gray early morning light to see the lady from the emergency room last night asleep in the bed next to him, was when his mother left and they didn't know where she was, and when they had to pretend that she was at work. It was scary when his mother was home and she had a boyfriend with her, or when she was acting crazy and beating him and his brothers up. Andy didn't mind the beatings as much as he did the fact that he could never rely on his mother, that he never knew, from day to day, exactly how she'd act. Sometimes, she was really nice. Other times, she wasn't like his mother at all.

The lady by the bed, though, Andy sensed good things about her. He didn't think she was like his mother. Her hands were soft and warm, gentle when she touched him. Her voice was calm and level. He wondered, gazing at her through the cover of darkness, if she had stayed with him because he was sick. If she had, she was nothing like his mother.

Andy's mother didn't like it when her kids bothered her. That was why she left, Andy thought. They made too much noise and bothered her. He tried to be quiet, but he didn't remember all the time. That was why it was his fault that his mother didn't love him. When Andy was sick, he never told his mother. He'd tell Kevin. If Andy or Zac was really sick, sometimes Kevin would have to go ask his mother for money to go buy Tylenol. Sometimes she'd get really mad, because she didn't have the money, or she didn't want to give it to him. Times like that, Andy thought, were when his mother was the scariest.

Andy knew that sometimes his older brother stole money from his mother. He didn't think that was right. Still, she'd only spend it on drugs, or she'd go out to a bar. If Kevin didn't take the money out of her purse, they'd never have groceries, or pay the rent, and the lights would go out again. Sometimes the phone didn't work, either. They had to pay money for that, too. Andy didn't understand all of that, about money. He didn't understand why people needed it, or what it meant. Sometimes he thought that maybe Kevin didn't, either. Still, his brother took care of things because he had to, because his mother wouldn't.

Andy knew that because Kevin had told him. Kevin told him lots of things, but not everything. Still, Andy usually knew what his brother was thinking, even if nobody else did. He was good at reading people. If you watched them carefully, they told you more than they ever could in words.

Like the lady in the chair by the bed. She was definitely someone who didn't go out and get drunk, not even on the weekends. She was probably like the mother on The Cosby Show, Andy thought, someone who was always nice to her kids, if she had any. Maybe they made her mad, sometimes, but she never hit them.

Then again, Andy thought, maybe everyone's mother hit them. Maybe the Cosby Show mother hit her kids as soon as the show was over. He wondered about that. Did the mother and father on the Cosby Show ever get drunk and start beating their kids? That was what his own mother would do. No, Andy thought. The Cosby Show parents were too nice. He wished he could go live at their house. He was probably the wrong color, but maybe the neighbors were nice, too. Andy was convinced that the Cosbys were an actual family, and that you could go visit them, if you had their address. Cosby. He rolled the name around in his mouth, not speaking it aloud. Andy Cosby. It had a nice ring to it.

Sharpay awoke to find herself riveted in the intense, very serious gaze of a little boy whose wide blue eyes seemed to take in the world. "Hi, Andy," she whispered, not wanting to scare him.

"Hi," he answered back, a small smile flickering across his face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better than I was before." He yawned. "Where's Kevin and Zac?"

"They went back to my house," Sharpay told him. "My name is Sharpay, and the three of you are going to be staying with me and my husband Troy for a few days."

"Does my mommy know?" Andy asked the question guilelessly, an almost hopeful look in his eyes.

Sharpay sighed. "No, honey. I'm sorry."

Andy took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's okay."

"You're really tired," Sharpay observed.

"Yeah, a little bit," he agreed.

"You should go to sleep now," she told him.

"Okay," he whispered. Obediently, he closed his eyes.

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Leave a review!

margaret


	4. Chapter 3

Title: Elsewhere

Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours and you don't know how long they're staying.

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**Chapter Three**

It had been ages since Kevin had slept. He hadn't thought that he would be able to fall asleep in a strange place, but the minute his head hit the pillow the night before, he hadn't been aware of anything but a strong sense of exhaustion. Once he closed his eyes, he couldn't open them again. He didn't want to open them again. This bed was more comfortable then the bed he had at home, especially because he didn't have to share it with anybody. No two little brothers, pulling the covers away in the middle of the night or kicking you with their icy feet or waking him up to ask to be taken to the bathroom. Kevin had already spent more nights than he could count sitting on the edge of the bathtub while he waited for one of his brothers to pee. In fact, that's what he'd been doing last night. Last night. It seemed like an eternity ago.

He'd been dreaming. He'd been dreaming that his mother came home and brought money with her, that she'd promised that she would never have another boyfriend and intended to keep it that way. He dreamed that they managed to move out of the welfare apartments and into a nice house in a nice quiet neighborhood with neighbors that looked like Ward and June Cleaver. Like all dreams, it ended.

"Kevin? Kevin?" One hot little hand on his arm and Kevin's dream world dissipated into the cold, dark bedroom with the streetlight that shone through the window. "Kevin, can you come with me down the hall? I'm scared." Andy coughed. He was hot and tired and he didn't feel good and he had to pee. "Kevin, wake up!"

"I'm up!" Kevin murmured. "I'm awake!"

"Come with me to the bathroom," Andy wiggled down to the end of the bed and hopped onto the floor. "I can't go all by myself."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." Kevin yawned and slid his legs over the edge of the mattress. The air in the room was freezing. He shivered. "Hurry up, okay."

"I can't go down the hall alone, there's monsters down there." Andy's voice was matter-of-fact. "Come on, Kevin."

"Yeah." Kevin followed his brother down the hall and into the bathroom. He closed his eyes and propped his chin on his hand. Maybe he could sleep for a few seconds. . .

"Kevin?" Andy balanced himself with one hand against the wall, feeling dizzy. "Kevin, are you awake?"

"Okay." Kevin opened his eyes again. "I'm awake. Pee, already."

"I can't pee unless you watch out for the monsters," Andy said. His cheeks were deeply flushed and his eyes bright with fever. "Watch," he instructed.

"Pee," Kevin instructed. "I don't see any monsters," he said. "Pee, now." "It isn't good to rush people while they are trying to go to the bathroom," Andy preached. "My teacher said it isn't healthy."

Kevin sighed. "It isn't healthy to freeze in the bathroom when you could be nice and warm in bed," he told his little brother. "You're sick, Andy. Go back to bed."

"Wait." Andy flushed the toilet a few seconds early, liking the whirlpool effect. "Okay. Now I'm done."

"Thank God," Kevin muttered, sighing as his brother headed for the bathroom sink and began washing his hands for what seemed like an eternity. "Hurry up, Andy!"

"If you don't wash your hands for five minutes after you go to the bathroom," Andy told him, "you will get germs."

"You already have germs!" Kevin exclaimed. "You're sick!"

"I know." Andy coughed a few times, and Kevin was worried. Even he knew that the deep, lung dredging spasms that racked his brother's body would not go away on their own. Andy sank to the floor, fighting for breath.

"Are you okay?" Kevin knelt next to him, feeling the bony outline of his brother's spine through Andy's thin pajama shirt. Andy nodded. "Uh huh."

"Okay." Kevin was worried. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Andy struggled to his feet. "I'm okay."

"Okay." Kevin bit his lip. "If you say so." The next time Andy woke him up, however, he was close to tears.

"I can't breathe at all, and it really hurts, Kevin." Andy sat up, leaning forward to relieve some of the pressure on his chest. "Where's Mom?" Kevin blinked.

"What do you mean, 'where's Mom?' You know I don't know."

"I wish she were here," Andy whimpered.

"What good would she be?" Kevin knew he sounded mean, but he felt like his brother was betraying him. Andy knew full well that you lived your own life and left your mother out of it.

"I just wish she was here." Andy struggled not to cry.

"Is it morning?" Zac lifted his head off the pillow and glanced around the room. "It's dark in here."

"Go back to sleep, Zac," Kevin told him.

"Can't sleep." Zac smiled cheerily. "Want to stay up."

"You can't stay up," Kevin told him. "You're bothering Andy." Zac looked solemn.

"Andy's sick," he observed. "You feel all right?"

"No," Andy squeezed his eyes shut. "I feel really bad."

"Does your ear hurt?" Zac rubbed his own in sympathy.

"No," Andy told him. "My ears are fine."

"Sometimes my ears hurt." Zac sat back on his heels, remembering. "Sometimes that happens."

"Your ear doesn't hurt now, does it?" Kevin asked. That was the last thing he needed. Two sick little brothers. And with his luck, they would both throw up. Zac shook his head.

"No."

"That's good," Kevin sighed. At least something was all right.

"Do I have to go to school?" Andy asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No. You better stay home."

"Good," said Zac. "I'm glad."

"I'm not." Andy liked school. When he didn't go, he missed it. "It was my day for show and tell tomorrow!" he wailed, remembering.

Kevin rolled his eyes. He hated school. "Well, what were you going to show? Hi, I'm Andy, and for show and tell I'm going to show. . . my germs?"

Zac giggled. "Show my germs," he repeated.

"It isn't funny." Andy crossed his arms defiantly, but he was falling back to sleep. "It isn't!"

"Okay." Kevin was worried that Andy would start that awful coughing again. "Okay, calm down. It isn't funny. Zac, stop laughing." All day long, Andy got worse, until he wasn't even talking anymore. He just lay still on the couch, his eyes half-open and his breathing quick and painful sounding. Kevin paced through the apartment, knowing that his brother needed a doctor; terrified that if they went for help, someone would find out about their mother. Finally, though, he decided that his brother's life was worth more than preserving the family. It took every ounce of will power in his body, but Kevin didn't back down once he made his decision. "Andy," he said, kneeling next to the couch, "we're going to go find a doctor, okay?"

He bundled his brothers into their coats and they headed for the emergency room a few blocks away. It took them an hour and a half to reach it, they had to stop so often for Andy to catch his breath. Finally, though, they made it to the sliding glass doors and stepped inside.

No one paid much attention to three small boys by themselves in the corner, and so Kevin finally decided to go looking for someone himself.

Kevin would never quite understand, in retrospect, exactly how he'd gotten from the filthy bathroom floor of his apartment one night to a soft, warm bed in a quiet suburban house the next. He would think about it a lot in the years to come, wondering exactly why he'd chosen, off all the doctors in the emergency room that day, to approach Sharpay Bolton. The only thing he would be able to say for certain was, with that single "excuse me" he had changed the course of his life. . . and his brother's lives. . . forever. Waking up that morning in one of the guest beds in Troy and Sharpay's spare bedroom, however, Kevin just felt confused. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't remember how he'd gotten there. For an instant, he wondered if maybe his whole life had been a dream. . . his mother, Andy, Zac, all of it, and it occured to him that he was probably some different person, with a different life, a better one. It was a relief, actually.

The memories came rushing back as soon as he sat up. The hospital. Troy. Sharpay. McDonalds. He bit his lip. The bed across from his was rumpled and empty. Zac had already gotten up.

Kevin jumped to his feet and bolted toward the door. He was terrified, suddenly. Maybe something terrible had happened. Maybe they'd all gone away and left him here. He reached for the doorknob and was hit with a spine-tingling thought. Maybe he was safe as long as he kept the door shut. Maybe if he opened the door, something awful would happen.

"It's just my imagination," Kevin murmured to himself. "It's just my imagination."

Still, he opened the door with great care. "Just my imagination," he whispered again, peering into the hallway.

For an instant he felt dizzy. The hallway was like those he'd only seen on TV. Everything was neat and in it's place, shining in the bright November sun. Pictures hung on the wall in ornate wooden frames, and even the bathroom smelled like flowers. (Later on he would find out that that was Sharpay's perfume.) Kevin paused, glancing at his grimy hands as he washed them in the bathroom sink. He didn't belong in a place like this. He would mess it up.

Carefully, Kevin picked his way down the stairs, scared of even making noise. One of the steps creaked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. This house was so quiet! Where was everybody?

From the end of the hall came the sound of soft singing. It sounded like someone trying to sing opera and failing miserably. Kevin also caught an unmistakable giggle. . . Zac's. At least he was in the right house!

"Fee-gah-roo, feegarofeegarofeegaro!" Troy was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing at a frying pan. Zac stood on a chair next to him, playing with the bubbles. "FEEGAHRO!" Troy sang. "What do you mean, I can't sing opera?"

"You can't sing opera!" Zac giggled.

"No." Troy shook his head. "Of course I can!"

"You can't!" Zac insisted.

"I can!" Troy exclaimed.

"No. You. Can't." Zac grinned hugely, pronouncing every syllable as carefully as he could.

"Yes. I. Can." Troy glanced up to see Kevin standing in the doorway. "Hey, Kevin. Good morning!"

Shyly, Kevin smiled. "Hi. Did you hear anything about Andy?"

Troy nodded. "Yeah, he's doing a lot better. They might even let him out today."

Kevin sighed, relieved. "That's good."

Troy smiled. "You hungry?"

Kevin thought. "Maybe a little," he admitted.

"A little?" Troy rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "He says a little," he told Zac.

"You say a little," Zac told Kevin.

"A little what?" Troy asked Zac. "A little kid, maybe? Who says I can't sing opera?"

"You can't!" Zac exclaimed.

Troy turned to Kevin. "No, seriously, Kevin," he said. "What do you want to eat?"

Kevin thought for a moment. He'd eat anything. He'd never really had a choice before. "Um. . . I don't really know. . ."

"We have lots of stuff," Troy told him. "Cereal, potato chips, zucchini."

Zac and Kevin both looked blank. "What's a zucchini?"

"Sounds gross," Zac piped.

"It is very delicious." Troy reached into the sink and drew out a soap bubble. It popped. "I eat zucchini quite often."

"Maybe I'll just have cereal," Kevin said. "If it's not a problem."

"Not a problem at all," said Troy. "Want cinnamon toast with that?"

"What's cinnamon toast?" Kevin asked.

"You, my boy," said Troy, "have quite an experience ahead of you."

"Do you lKevin it?" Seven and a half minutes later, Troy handed Kevin a piece of toast and watched the kid eye it suspiciously. "It's very delicious and has no nutritional value whatsoever."

"It's good," Kevin agreed. "I never had it before. Thanks."

Troy smiled at the ceiling. He liked these two. They were so much different than his "well-privileged" nieces and nephews, nicer to each other, happier about smaller things. It was funny how these kids who'd never had anything had such a tendency to share what they did have with each other. He just sat there for a moment and watched them, not saying anything.

Suddenly, Kevin had a thought. "Is cinna. . . cima. . . synom. . ."

"Cinnamon," Troy supplied.

"Is cinnamon really expensive?" Kevin looked worried. Troy could almost have laughed, but he was worried about the answer. He didn't feel like he was rich anymore, not since he left the NBA, but he could buy caseloads of cinnamon, if he wanted. To Kevin's family, on the other hand, anything that wasn't a necessity probably was expensive.

"It's not too expensive," Troy finally told him.

"Because. . . how do you make this?" Kevin asked.

Troy grinned. "You can make toast, right?" The kid was eight years old. It was a reasonable expectation.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah."

"Kevin can make lots of stuff," Zac told Troy. "Lots of."

Troy raised an eyebrow, pretending he didn't believe it. "Like what?" he asked.

Zac chuckled. "Macaronis," he said, "and peanut butter sandwiches. And sometimes he puts jelly on them." He thought. "And cereal. And hot dogs," he said.

"Anything else?" Troy asked. "That's pretty impressive."

Zac looked confused. "And cereal," he repeated, pronouncing the word like 'surreal-real.'

"Cereal."

"Anyone can make cereal," Kevin pointed out.

"I can't make surreal-real." Zac pointed out.

"Neither can most people." Troy thought of surreal-real and grinned.

"Why not?" Kevin asked. "All you do is add milk."

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you do it?"

Kevin looked at Troy as if he were crazy. "Yeah," he said. "How else would you make cereal?"

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Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I have a tone of this written already, just working on typing it up. I hope to have a lot of it finished before I start my psych rotation in January. I really should be studying though, cause I'm probably going to get owned on the first day of rounds. Leave a review!

margaret


	5. Chapter 4

Title: Elsewhere

Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying.

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**Chapter Four**

Sharpay wondered if Andy ever talked. Except for the few sentences they'd exchanged this morning, he had been entirely silent, watching her with those luminous eyes. As soon as his temperature had fallen and the antibiotics began to take hold, he'd seemed a lot more alert, curious, even. Still, he hadn't talked; hadn't asked one question aloud. The more Sharpay watched him, the easier it became to see when his interest was piqued by something going on, whether it was a shot or the person in the next bed getting lunch. Andy's eyes slid toward the tray and back to Sharpay.

"You're hungry?" She asked.

Andy nodded. For the first time in a few days, he actually wanted to eat.

"They're going to give you lunch, too," she assured him. "Hold on a second."

Sure enough, a nurse came around to Andy's bed with a covered plastic tray. She set it on top of a rolling table and wheeled it over to him. "Here, angel," she said. "Do you like alphabet soup?"

Andy nodded. He wished he knew why people were always calling him angel. It wasn't like it was his name or anything.

"First, though, I have to give you a little shot," the nurse said. Andy winced. She sighed.

"I know, baby. It's not fun, is it?"

Andy shook his head. He didn't care if they were going to feed him. He wanted to go home. He wondered what his brothers were doing now. He wondered what Troy and Sharpay's house was like. He wondered where his mother was, if she'd gotten home yet. If she got home and they were gone, she'd be mad.

The shot hurt. Andy clenched his teeth together and told himself not to cry. "Honey, it's all done," said the nurse, holding out three bandages. "Which one do you want?"

Andy didn't have to think. He pointed to the one in the middle, the Superman one. "That one?" the nurse asked. He nodded.

"Superman," the nurse smiled. "He's cool, isn't he?"

Andy smiled, nodding emphatically. The nurse took the plastic cover off the lunch, and patted him on the head. "I'll see you later," she said aloud. To Sharpay, she mouthed, "He is adorable!"

Andy didn't see her. He had picked up a spoon and was poking at the letters in his alphabet soup. A, N, and D were easy to find. Y was a lot harder. ANDY. . .

Suddenly, Andy thought of Sharpay. He wondered if she was hungry. He wanted to ask her, but didn't want to talk. He glanced at her, picking up the cookie they'd given him. He held it out to her.

Through her sleep-deprived haze, it took Sharpay a moment to realize what he was doing.

When she did, she wanted to hug him. "Oh, honey. . ." she began. "Honey, that's yours. You have it."

Andy shook his head. He reached for her hand and put the cookie into it. He looked into her eyes. Did she understand?

She did. She smiled. "Thank you so much," she said. "That's very nice of you."

Andy smiled down at his alphabet soup. The A, N, D and Y had floated off into different corners of the bowl, but he didn't mind. He could find them again.

Sharpay noticed that Andy wasn't eating much. He couldn't be that hungry, with his fever still hovering around 102 and coughing fits that hit him every few minutes. Still, he appeared to be very busy doing something with that soup. She couldn't figure out what. That was when she glanced down at the tray. Next to his bowl of soup, Andy had arranged noodles to carefully spell out three words. KEVIN. ANDY. ZAC. "You thinking about your brothers?" she asked.

Andy nodded, looking down.

"I talked to Troy on the phone a little while ago. They're doing good. They miss you."

Andy swallowed. She was worried he might cry. For awhile, she was silent, listening to the other people in the room.

The other bed was occupied by a pale, puffy boy of eight or nine. He was quite rotund, and his concerned-looking parents even rounder. All three of them had milk-white skin and orangy-red hair, and Allen was covered in splotchy freckles. He wore thick, Coke-bottle glasses and had a spiky crew cut. Actually, he would have been rather cute, in a funny-looking Little Rascals sort of way, if he hadn't been such a whiny brat.

Allen was hospitalized because of an allergic reaction to shell-fish. Because of the severity of the reaction, he had been kept overnight for observation, and might have to stay another night. Admittedly, Sharpay thought, the kid was actually sick. But that was about all you could say for him. And the parents doted on him so much that it was sickening.

"Allen, honey," said his mother, "look at the videos I've brought you. Superman!"

Sharpay thought she saw Andy's eyes light up. If Allen got to watch Superman, he would be able to see it, too.

"That's for babies," Allen scoffed. "I want to see Transformers.'"

"Sweetie…"

"I want a candy bar!" Allen demanded. "I want a coloring book. I want to watch horror movies. I want you to buy me a Nintendo Wii!"

"When we get home, sweetie," his mother promised.

Allen's half of the room reminded Sharpay of Toys "R" US, there were so many stuffed animals and play things. She made a mental note to herself to buy Andy a teddy bear or something as soon as she got out of here. Then she would go home and sleep. . . the three hours she'd snagged last night left her with the woozy sensation that she was back in her intern days. Thank God Andy wasn't a demanding child. If she'd been Allen's mother, she probably would have slapped him. Long ago.

"Allen, Daddy and I love you very much, but this nurse has to give you a shot." Allen's mother had the bizarre habit of beginning every unpleasant statement with 'Daddy and I love you very much.' Sharpay wondered what strange sort of psychological implications that carried with it.

"NO!" Allen shouted. "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! I DON'T WANNA GET A SHOT!" He kicked and flailed. Andy's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"Don't get any ideas," Sharpay thought, glancing at Andy.

"NO!" Allen turned and looked accusingly at Andy. "HE DOESN'T HAVE TO GET A SHOT!"

"He did before," the nurse sighed. "He was very brave about it."

"HE WASN'T BRAVE ABOUT IT!" Allen bellowed. "NOT BRAVER THAN ME!"

"Yes, Allen," said Allen's mother. "Daddy and I love you very much, and you are a very brave boy. But the nurse must give you a shot."

"No." Allen crossed his arms and curled into a ball. "You can't."

Sharpay and Andy exchanged a glance. Andy looked half horrified, but very amused. My gosh, Sharpay thought. He is absolutely as nosy as I am, if not more. It dawned on her that Andy's silence was probably due to the fact that he was eavesdropping almost constantly. He seemed to pick up a lot by watching people. That kid had more going on than anyone suspected, she was willing to bet. In fact, when the nurse pulled the curtain between the two beds, Andy actually looked disappointed. He sighed.

"Shots aren't as bad as all that, are they?" Sharpay asked him, smiling. "You're being really brave."

Andy's eyes widened. "That boy," he whispered, in a tiny little voice, "why doesn't his mother hate him?"

"What?" Sharpay was doubly taken aback, first to hear him talking at all, and again when she realized what he'd said. "Why doesn't she hate him?"

"If you acts like that," Andy repeated, the slight lisp in his voice becoming readily apparent, "your mother, she hates you."

Sharpay didn't know how to respond to that. "Well, most mothers don't like it when their kids act like that, and they might yell, but they don't usually hate their kids."

"But his mother be's nice to him," Andy went on. "She didn't be mad."

"No." Sharpay shook her head. "But he is sick. So maybe she doesn't want to yell at him when he doesn't feel good."

"Why?" There was no self-pity or malice in Andy's voice. "When I don't feel good, my mother be's mad at me. And she yells. And then I don't do bad things."

"When you're sick, it doesn't mean you did something bad," Sharpay pointed out.

Andy didn't appear to hear her. "Sometimes, when I'm not good, she has to get mad at me. And then I'm always more betterer after."

Sharpay felt a chill run down her spine. She'd seen a lot of abuse cases, but had really wanted to believe that this was sheer neglect. "Andy, when your mother gets mad at you, what happens?"

He drew a long, shaky breath, glancing toward the ceiling. "She yells. But she has to hit us, really. And she doesn't hit us very hard."

Sharpay tried to think. His mother, according to the information gleaned from Kevin, was twenty five years old, a single mother who'd had three kids in four years with one man, who'd walked out on them a few months before Zac was born. She must get desperate, sometimes, and maybe, in the environment she'd been raised in, it was alright to hit a kid. Sharpay's own parents, in fact, had been spanked her once. It didn't hurt, and Sharpay hadn't suffered any psychological damage from it, as far as she could tell, but still, Mother and Daddy had had far more resources to draw on than Andy's mother did. Maybe she didn't know that she might hurt her kids, emotionally, anyway.

Still. . . Sharpay glanced at Andy's arm. A white, slightly raised scar ran from just above his elbow to the middle of his forearm. It was a strange place to have a scar, one hallmark of child abuse.

"Sweetie," she asked, "what is that from?"

Andy was nonchalant. "That was where I brokeded it. It was brokeded in two places."

"How did you break it?" Sharpay felt awful asking him questions that had the potential to hurt him so much, but she had to.

He didn't meet her eyes. "I fell."

"Where?" Sharpay had to pursue the topic. "Where did you fall?"

Andy sighed. "They already askeded me questions about it. I was only three. It was a long time ago."

Sharpay decided to let it drop. "Okay."

Andy closed his eyes, yawning. Sharpay put her hand on his forehead. "Are you tired, sweetie?"

"Yeah." Andy yawned again, burrowing under the covers. "Wake me up if anything happens."

Sharpay smiled. "I'll be back tonight, honey." Finding her car keys on the table beside the bed, she stood up and headed toward the door.

Andy bolted into a sitting position. The suddeness of the action sent him back into another coughing spasm, and it was awhile before he could talk. When he did, his eyes were wide and scared. "You're going to leave?" he stammered.

"While you were asleep, I was going to run home and take a shower." Sharpay felt a wave of guilt wash over her. He was already attached. . . and so was she.

"Oh. . ." Andy closed his eyes, struggling not to cry. He didn't want to be alone here. "I. . . I just thought you might stay. . ."

"I'll stay, sweetie," Sharpay promised. She thought of the room on the first floor that was reserved for doctors who spent the night in the hospital when they were on call. It was a tiny, stuffy room, lined with uncomfortable bunk beds, but when you'd been up for most of the night, it didn't really matter. "I might go down to a room to sleep while you're taking a nap, but I'll have my pager with me, and the nurses at the front desk will call me when you wake up, and I'll be there right away."

"Okay." Andy didn't sound very reassured, but he lay back down and closed his eyes. After awhile, Sharpay could tell he'd fallen asleep. It was now or never. . .

She stood up and started out of the room. As she passed by the front desk, one of the nurses called her over. "We located a medical file on the little angel boy you have in there," she said, grimly. "You need to take a look at this."

Sharpay felt goose bumps rise on her arm as she read through the chart of Andrew Taylor Patterson, swallowing hard as horror story after horror story rose to life in front of her. From his birth (three weeks early, classified as failure to thrive, readmitted at six weeks because of the serious respiratory illness RSV) Andy's life had apparently been one traumatic incident after the other. His records indicated that the first time he and Kevin had been taken away from their parents came about when neighbors reported that the people in the next apartment had a two year old and a baby, and the parents hadn't been around for a few days, but they could hear the baby crying. After six months in foster care, the parents had gotten them back, and, aside from a few immunization records, there was little in the file for about a year. Then, when he was nearly three years old, there came another chilling anecdote. Hospitalized after a severe beating, Andy had been in a coma for four days. At first, they thought he wouldn't recover. When he survived without any appreciable brain damage, it was a miracle. Confirming what Andy had told her, the next document detailed a compound fracture he'd had at the age of three and a half, reportedly after "falling out of bed." Uh huh, Sharpay thought, anger boiling within her. That would make complete sense. She knew what a little kid's bones were like, and she knew how they generally broke. There was no way in hell he'd gotten a compound fracture from falling out of bed. Out a window, maybe. Three feet to the ground, no.

Amazingly, they'd only been removed from their mother's custody three times, that first time when Andy was an infant and the second after he was beaten into the coma. Sharpay swallowed hard; anyone could have seen that these injuries weren't consistent with the stories the mother was telling. This was such an obvious, classic case of abuse that something had to be done.

She thought back to the physical examination she'd done when Andy was first admitted. There hadn't been any fresh bruises on his body, though she'd noticed a few fading yellow marks across his back. At some point within the past five to ten days, he'd been hit hard enough with something to cause bruising. Then she was struck by another chilling thought. Andy was only one of them. If she got a hold of Kevin and Zac's charts, God only knew what she'd find.

Sharpay swallowed hard. "My lord." This was potentially the worst case of child abuse she'd ever seen, and as a emergency room pediatrician, she'd seen far too many.

"This is sickening," agreed the nurse, shaking her head. "Sickening."

There was no way Sharpay would have been able to sleep after that. She went back into the hospital room, pulled the uncomfortable visitor's chair next to Andy's bed, and sat there watching him for awhile, hardly daring to think about the answers to all the questions that ran through her head.

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AN: Thanks so much for everyone's reviews! I've been working really hard to do some massive typing and editing, so that I can post a chapter about every other day. My mom's freaking out about how it's Mac's first Christmas and everything has to be perfect etc etc. Like she hasn't bought him 400 toys in his first seven months of life. And the kid can barely crawl. It's the most adorable thing—this bizarre one elbow opposite knee shuffle—but of course I have to say that, I'm his mom. Anyway—tell me what you think!

margaret


	6. Chapter 5

**Title:** Elsewhere

**Summary:** It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three boys. Especially if they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying. Troypay.

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**Chapter Five**

"So, where do you guys usually get clothes?" Troy asked, regretting immediately the way he'd phrased the question.

Kevin sighed. "From the Good Will."

Zac nodded, smiling broadly. "Andy gets Kevin's clothes," he explained. "I get Andy's clothes. But we get our own underwears, though. I wears underwears now."

"Zac!" Kevin, at eight, was old enough to be embarrassed at the very mention of underwear. "That's not nice!"

"Troy, do you wears underwears?" Zac continued, ignoring his brother. "Do you wears underwears every day?"

"I wears underwears," Troy agreed. "Everyday."

They were in the car and driving aimlessly. Troy had realized that the kids had no clothes but what they were wearing, and he didn't think he was allowed to drive them to their apartment so that they could pick up a few changes of clothing. He'd decided it wouldn't hurt to take them somewhere and get them some pajamas and stuff.

Still, where did you go to shop for little kids' clothes? It had been ages since Troy had been to a mall, and he'd never been anywhere with the express purpose of buying little boys' pajamas and socks. Hopefully, he thought, Kevin or Zac would know.

"Who wears underwears?" Zac sang to himself. "I wears underwears. Kevin wears underwears. . ." This last part, for his older brother's benefit, was added at the top of his lungs, joyously.

"Be quiet!" Kevin yelled, blushing.

"Okay, Zac," Troy told him. "I guess we'd better talk about something else now. Kev, do you know where we can go to get clothes?"

Kevin's eyes were wary. He didn't know why Troy would buy him clothes. No one had ever done anything like that for him before. "I don't know," he replied, because he really didn't. He expected Troy to turn the car around and say 'Okay, then, we don't have to get anything.' Kevin was slowly beginning to realize, however, that many of his expectations were not turning out as he'd imagined. Troy pulled into the parking lot of the first store he saw, a massive K-Mart whose windows, the week before Thanksgiving, were already plastered with Santa Claus.

"I seen this place before!" Zac grinned. "What's going to happen now?"

Some little kids asked "Why?" all the time. Other little kids asked "Are we there yet?" Zac (and Kevin, though he didn't often voice it) just wanted to know what was going to happen next. Troy took the keys out of the ignition and reached to unbuckle Zac's seatbelt. "We're going to go in."

"In!" Zac yelled, smiling. "Into the store!"

Making a mental note to keep Zac away from caffeine, sugar and other stimulants, Troy took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. "C'mon, you two. Time to go to. . . K-Mart!" He turned to Kevin. "Do they have clothes at K-Mart?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Don't you know where they have clothes? Don't you buy your own clothes?"

Troy's grin was sheepish. "Actually, Sharpay takes me to 5th Avenue, and she holds my hand, and we go from store to store, and she says 'try this on,' and so I try it on, and she says 'do you like it?' and I say, 'I don't know,' and she says 'well, I do.' And so then she buys it, and I put something else on and we buy that, too. "

Troy noted that both Kevin and Zac jumped back at the automatic doors, obviously unused to them.

"Kind of like at the grocery store, only bigger," Zac observed.

"You want a sticker?" The teenage girl in the blue K-Mart vest popped her gum and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. She held a roll of happy face stickers in her hand.

"Yeah!" Zac grinned. She tried to stick one to his shirt. "Uh uh. I don't want it there."

"Where do you want it?" The teenager ran a hand through her hair, sighing hugely.

"Here." Zac pointed to his forehead. The girl sighed again, plastering it to his face.

Zac's smile was charming. "Thank you, ma'am!"

The girl blinked, taken aback at being called "ma'am." She looked at Kevin. "You want one, too?"

Kevin looked at her as if she were crazy. He was eight years old, for crying out loud! It wasn't like he was a baby! Of course he didn't want a sticker. Worried that she might put one on him anyway, he fell back, a little bit closer to Troy. "No," he said. "No thanks."

"Okay." The girl moved in toward the next group of shoppers. "You want a sticker?"

"We are in K-Mart!" Zac sang. "K-Mart! K-Mart!"

"Zac, act normal," Kevin groaned. "Be quiet." He glanced around, hoping no one was staring.

A few people were smiling bemusedly, however. One elderly lady bent and patted Zac on the head. "Aren't you adorable," she remarked. "Where did you come from?"

Zac beamed. "Heaven," he told her, beaming. Troy had to wonder.

A little while later, (after being lost in the Home & Garden section for the better part of ten minutes) Troy took a look around him and decided they were in the boys department.

"Does this look right to you?" he asked Kevin and Zac.

"Yeah." Kevin stuck his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and waited. He didn't know why Troy was doing this. He didn't want anything. He wished he knew how Andy was, where they'd all be tomorrow at this time.

"What sizes are you guys?" Troy asked. He realized that he had no idea how little boy's sizing charts were situated. Did he have to go find a tape measure and measure them? Did he have to weigh them? Did he have to go find someone with little boys of the same size and ask?

"Umm. . ." Kevin shifted. "About medium?"

"No," Zac shook his head. "You're biggest, and I'm littlest, so Andy's mediumest!" He rolled his eyes at his brother's ignorance.

"Um, I don't think that's the way it works." Troy turned to Kevin. "C'mere, I'm going to check the tag on your shirt."

Kevin looked up at him. "I don't have a tag on my shirt."

"Why?" Troy asked, feeling desperate and slipping into sarcasm. "Did you make it yourself?" Instantly, his stomach clenched. Shoot, what if the kid had? What if he was one of those sweat shop workers or something? What if they got their clothes off the black market?

Kevin shrugged. "It was itchy, so I tore it out."

"Oh." Troy nodded, more than a small bit relieved. That could be it, too. "Does size go by age, do you know? Is Zac a size three? Are you a size eight?"

Kevin shook his head. "I think maybe, but I wouldn't bet on it."

Troy sighed. "Let's just find things that look about the right size, and you can try them on to see if they fit."

Zac had pulled a pair of bright orange and red plaid pants from a nearby rack and was holding them up. "I think I like these."

Troy swallowed hard. "Those? Those, Zac?"

Zac giggled. "No! I's just kidding." He glanced over at Kevin and giggled. This Troy guy did not know how to take a joke.

Troy was picking through pairs of jeans that were hanging on a nearby rod. "Come over here a second, I want to see how long they are."

It was a start. Troy took the two of them into the changing room armed with eight pairs of jeans. "Ike," he said, "if you want to have your own place to change, you can."

Kevin bit his lip. "He needs help, though," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his battered sneakers.

"It's okay," Troy met Zac's eyes and the two of them grinned. "I can help him."

"Okay, thanks." Kevin was only too glad to escape into the calm solitude of a private changing room. He'd never been in one before, and wasn't sure if you were actually supposed to take your clothes off, or how many clothes you were supposed to take off. He stood still for awhile, not wanting to do something wrong, but not wanting to ask a stupid question, either.

Troy sensed that something was up when he looked over and Kevin hadn't moved. "You just have to try the jeans on," he said. "Don't worry, no one can see you in there."

"Okay." Kevin had been in changing rooms before, but only at the Good-Will. He had wondered if changing rooms in stores that dealt with new clothes were different. He thought K-Mart was probably more careful with their merchandise and had imagined a number of security cameras watching him from the ceiling. If he did something wrong, he was sure someone would know.

Maybe if he was arrested, though, they'd have to call his mother. Kevin bit his lower lip. He'd never thought about that before.

He struggled to untie the knots in his shoelaces and carefully stepped out of his jeans. Someone, somewhere, knew where his mother was. And God, he wanted to see her.

"Do those fit?" Troy yelled, over the partition.

Kevin shook his head. "They keep coming down!"

"Those, too?" This was the fourth pair of pants Kevin had tried on. Troy shook his head.

"They're a little better than the other ones, but they still keep coming down," Kevin told him.

"Come out a second, and let me see," Troy told him. "Yeah, the legs are long enough on those ones, but the waist doesn't fit. Are they made for, like, big kids? What's this 's' mean?"

"Slim," called a female voice, from a few partitions away.

"Thanks!" Troy called, then turned to Kevin. "Slim? These are the ones for skinny kids?"

Kevin blushed. "I can't help it."

"I know." Troy knelt down, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "What size are your other ones?"

"They don't really fit, either." Kevin looked away, embarrassed.

Troy put his hands on Kevin's shoulders, feeling the sharp ridges of bone just beneath the skin. "It's okay, Kev. We'll figure something out." He paused. "Is there such thing as extra-extra slim?"

"No. . ." The door to the other partition opened and a tall black woman stepped into the hallway. "Do you need some help?"

"I think so." Troy was grateful. "He's eight, I don't know how tall he is and how much he weighs, or even what size he is, and nothing seems to fit. . ."

He's desperate, the woman thought. His wife must usually buy the clothes. And that kid looked like they never fed him. She sighed. "Let's see, what's your name?"

"Kevin." Kevin studied the ground. How many people were going to be dragged into this?

"And you're eight years old?" The woman bent and examined the tag on his jeans. "Seven slim."

"I just turned eight two days ago," Kevin told her.

"Really? Thursday was your birthday?" Troy asked.

Oh my lord, thought the woman. He doesn't know his own kid's birthday? She'd known deadbeat fathers, and this was one. They were probably divorced. "You could try a six husky," she suggested, "but that would probably still be too big around the waist, and the legs would be too short. Maybe you should stick with these, and buy him a belt. He's tall, though. He might outgrow them pretty soon."

"Thank you so much!" Troy grinned, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. "One more thing, though?"

The lady glanced back at him as she turned to rejoin her son. "Uh huh?"

"If I had a small five year old. . . I mean, really, pretty small. . ."

"Size five," the lady told him. "Slim."

"Thank you." Troy nodded to Kevin. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It wasn't?" Kevin slipped back into the changing stall and reemerged dressed the way he'd been before. He wasn't carrying anything.

"Hey, buddy, where are those jeans?" Troy asked, hoping Kevin hadn't lost them amidst the debris in the changing room.

Kevin's mouth dropped open. "We're going to buy them?"

"What'd you think we were going to do with them?" Troy asked. "And bring the other pairs, too. . . I think we have to put them back."

Kevin was astonished. Troy was actually buying them clothes? Why? He was afraid. . . no one had ever done anything nice for him before without some ulterior motive. Something bad had to be coming, and he wished he knew what.

But after the jeans, there were shirts, then pajamas. And then socks. . . and everyone's favorite. . . underwear. "Get Superman ones for Andy," Zac told Troy. "And Ninja Turtle ones for me."

"Zac!" Kevin was shocked. You didn't tell someone what kind of underwear to buy you. That was incredibly rude. Troy would think that they were really demanding, and then he'd get mad.

But Troy just laughed. "Do you want pictures on your underwear?" he asked Kevin.

Kevin shook his head. "No! No way!"

"White ones." Troy found them and threw three packages of undershirts into the pile, for good measure. "This seems good. Do you guys want anything else?"

Two pairs of shocked brown eyes stared back up at him. Anything else? This was more than they'd ever gotten in their whole entire lives put together. What else was there?

"Nothing," they chorused. "Thank you," Kevin added.

"Thank you!" Zac agreed.

"Hmm. . . because, you know what I was thinking?" Troy asked. "That we should get some kind of toy or something for Andy. Do you guys want to go pick something out?"

The Andy part was just a cover-up. Maybe he'd get all of them a toy.

Zac and Kevin looked at each other and grinned. "Ninja Turtles."

"Ninja Turtles?" Troy raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't he rather have a Barbie?"

Zac shook his head. "He's a boy."

"Yeah, so's Barbie," Troy winked at Kevin, who ducked his head and studied the floor.

"No. . ." Zac stopped in front of the toy aisle, his hands on his hips and his expression defiant. "Barbie is a girl!"

"Oh!" Troy looked surprised. "I never knew that."

"You need me to tell you lots of things," Zac observed. "Otherwise you probably wouldn't know anything."

"That's right," Troy agreed, solemnly. "Otherwise I wouldn't know anything. So which Ninja Turtle does he like?"

Zac smiled. "Them all." He wasn't trying to drop a hint. Andy really did like them all.

"Really? Them all?" Troy lifted one of packages off of the shelf and examined the little green alien thing inside. This thing was kind of cool!

"Yeah. We never thought we'd get any of 'em, so we figured we should just like them all," Zac explained.

"Yeah, but now we have to pick one," Kevin agreed. "So, Zac, which one do you think he wants?"

"Michelangelo," Zac answered, immediately.

"That's the one you want, not Tay," Kevin told him.

"Leonardo?"

Kevin swallowed. "That's the one I want. I don't think Andy likes him as much."

They looked at each other. "Raphael."

"I have an idea." Troy wondered how to propose it casually. He smiled. "Why don't we get all four? You can each have one, and the other one can be so you can play with all of them." That was phrased wonderfully, he thought. Lord!

"No," Kevin said, quickly. "You don't have to do that."

Troy smiled. "Why not?"

"Because." Kevin chewed on a fingernail. "You shouldn't spend money on stuff like that."

Troy thought for a second. "Do you have a Ninja Turtle?"

"No," Zac supplied.

"Then why not spend two dollars to buy one?" Troy asked.

Kevin shrugged. "It'll be your Ninja Turtle, then."

Troy smiled. "I'll give it to you. As a present."

Kevin looked suspicious. "What for?"

Troy grinned. "Wasn't it your birthday two days ago?"

Slowly, Kevin nodded. "That's what for," Troy told him. "Hasn't anyone given you a present before?"

"Not really," Kevin admitted, twining his fingers through the metal rods on the edge of the cart. He shut his eyes.

Troy swallowed, but he tried to hide what he was feeling. "See? It's about time."

Kevin glanced at Zac. Zac smiled. "See, Kev?"

"Okay." Kevin said it so softly Troy could hardly hear him. "That's all right, I guess."

"Okay," Troy agreed. "That's what we'll do, then. It's a birthday present."

Zac smiled up at the ceiling. "Birthday. . . present!" he repeated.

-------------------

So, more Troy-boys interaction. I just love them. Sorry there's not a lot of Troypay interaction—there will be some, in the future, kind of.

Leave a review! And thanks so much for the ones you've already left.

margaret


	7. Chapter 6

**Title: **Elsewhere

**Summary:** It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little kids. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying.

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**Chapter Six**

"When am I getting out of here?" Allen wailed.

"Daddy and I love you very much. Soon," his mother assured him.

Andy blinked. He was awake now. Whenever he started to go to sleep, that stupid boy would cry. "Be quiet," he murmured into the sheet. "Go away!"

"Did you say something?" Sharpay leaned over the railing of the bed and fixed the blanket. "Are you okay?"

"That boy," Andy whispered, "is a big baby."

"Yeah," Sharpay agreed, sighing. "He is, honey."

"He is?" Andy giggled. "You think so?"

"Uh huh." Sharpay stretched. "You are being very brave, though."

"That's 'cause I'm five," Andy agreed.

"That's really big," Sharpay assured him

"Yeah," Andy agreed. "But that kid is a big kid. Bigger than me. As big as Kevin, even." He smiled. "If he were here, he'd beat that kid up."

Sharpay grinned to herself. Kevin probably would beat him up.

"I WANNA GO HOME!" Allen bellowed. "I WANNA GO HOME!"

"I don't want to go home," Andy whispered. Sharpay took his hand.

"Don't worry about it."

For awhile, neither of them spoke. The next time Allen wailed, Andy sighed hugely, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

Sharpay had to grin. "Don't let him bother you, Andy. Go back to sleep, honey."

Andy shook his head. "I can't. That boy is making too much noise."

Sharpay sighed. "I know, sweetie. Want me to tell you a story?"

"Mmhmm." Andy nodded, looking up at her eagerly.

Sharpay racked her brain. She'd have to come up with a story.

---------

"And so the astronaut in the rocket ship flew through space and he flew through the sky and the clouds and he came back home." Troy yawned. It was scarcely eight thirty, but all three of them were exhausted. He'd gotten Kevin and Zac both to take baths, put their pajamas on and get into bed. And then he got roped in to telling them stories. "And then he went home to sleep, because he was very, very tired." He stood up. "It's time for bed now, guys, for real."

"One more story?" Zac sat up and bounced up and down. "One? One more? Please?"

"Zac." Kevin bit his lip. "He doesn't have to tell you a story."

"Okay." Zac lay back down. He looked up at Troy. "But it would be nice, though."

Troy smiled. "Only one more? And you won't ask for anymore?"

Zac nodded solemnly. "No. No more. I promise."

"Well. . . okay, I guess." Troy sat back down on the edge of the bed. "What about?"

"I want Kevin to pick it," Zac smiled.

"Kev, you want to pick it?" Troy asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No. You pick it, Zac."

"You." Zac folded his arms across his chest. "You pick."

Troy glanced from one to the other. "Want me to pick it, Kevin?"

Kevin nodded. "Uh huh."

"Okay." Troy took a deep breath. "Once upon a time there was. . . What are you doing now?"

Kevin had crawled out of his own bed and was trying to sneak over to Zac without Troy's noticing. Because Troy was on Zac's bed, this was a physical impossibility. Kevin blushed. "I have to tell him something. . ."

"Okay." Troy waited while Kevin whispered something in his brother's ear and dived back into his own bed.

Zac grinned up at Troy. "I want to hear a story about a princess."

"About a princess?" Troy glanced over at Kevin. "Okay." He knew who really wanted to hear a story about a princess. "Okay, so once upon a time there was this princess and. . ."

"And the bad fairies who made her go to sleep for a hundred million years," Zac added.

Troy stifled a laugh. "And she was really a pretty cute princess, I mean like, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue material. . ." he continued.

"What's that?" Zac interrupted.

"I'll show you one tomorrow," Troy promised him, having no intention of doing so. "And she was really cute, but she was cursed. . ."

-----------------

"And so the grandmother said to the Big Bad Wolf, 'Have lunch with us if you're hungry.' And Little Red Riding Hood said 'Yeah, borrow my cape if you don't have any clothes.' And the Big Bad Wolf said, 'thank you, that's very nice.' And he stayed for lunch, and he borrowed her cape, and they all lived happily ever after." Sharpay took a deep breath. The only parts of "Little Red Riding Hood" she could remember had been really violent, so she'd changed a lot of things. Would he buy it?

Andy smiled. "That's a good story." He yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Have they found my mommy yet?"

Sharpay bit her lip. An hour and a half before, she'd gotten a phone call from Mary, the social worker. They had found his mother. Right now, she was in jail on charges of child abandonment and reckless endangerment. If she would agree to go into a drug rehabilitation program and counseling, Mary told Sharpay, Kathleen, the boys' mother, did have a good chance of getting them back. Intellectually, Sharpay knew that that would be a good thing. If she could get her life back on track, Kathleen deserved custody of her sons. Emotionally, though, Sharpay was fighting devastation. The one thing she'd been telling herself for the past few days was that she shouldn't become attached. She couldn't help herself.

What did she tell him? That his mother was in jail? Did she tell him they had found his mother, but leave out the jail part? If she left out the jail part, what would she tell him when he asked if he could see his mother?

Sharpay took a deep breath and looked straight into Andy's eyes. "They're working on it, honey. They do know that she's safe."

Andy gripped her hand more tightly. "Are you sure that she's okay?"

Sharpay nodded. "I wouldn't tell you anything that wasn't true."

"Okay." And Andy believed her.

----------------

Troy had emerged from the guest bedroom after telling the final story (Zac had fallen asleep during it) and sprawled on the couch, waiting for Sharpay to call. He was too tired to open his eyes, and Kevin was quiet. It wasn't until Troy sat up to call the hospital himself that he noticed the little figure in the doorway.

Troy smiled blearily. "How long have you been there, buddy?"

Kevin shrugged. "I couldn't sleep." For the first time all day, his eyes met Troy's. "Have you heard anything at all about my mother?"

Troy swallowed. He'd gotten a phone call from the social worker that had been highly similiar to the one Sharpay had received, and it had raised the same questions in his mind. He thought for a moment, wondering how to phrase this.

"C'mere, Kev." Troy moved over to make room on the couch. Tentatively, Kevin sat down next to him, apprehensively intertwining his fingers. Troy felt overwhelmed. He decided he'd forget any 'I am an adult, you are a child, so you'd better listen to me even though I'm lying' pretension. He thought Kevin would probably see through it.

"I don't want to tell you this, Kevin. I think you need to know, because I don't want to lie to you, okay?"

Kevin stiffened. "Okay. . ."

"Because. . . " Troy sighed. "Listen, Kev, I will never lie to you. Ever. You deserve to know the truth about what's going on, and if I didn't think you could handle what I'm about to tell you, I wouldn't say anything to you. Okay?"

"Okay," Kevin agreed, hardly hearing what Troy was telling him. Oh my God, he was thinking. Something awful happened. She's dead or something.

"They found your mother," Troy told him. "She's all right."

"Thank God," Kevin murmured, before he thought the better of it.

Troy put his arm around Kevin's shoulders. "Yeah, that's the good news. But Kev? She left the three of you, and put you guys in a dangerous situation."

"We were okay," Kevin defended.

Troy didn't have it in him to argue. "Yeah, but most kids wouldn't be. So they have laws that deal with parents who go away and leave their kids. Kev, they had to take her to jail, and she'll probably be there for a little while."

Kevin drew a long, shaky breath. He didn't say anything.

Troy put an arm around his shoulders. "They're going to help her make a plan to get her life back together. So that she can take care of you guys. She'll probably have to go to drug rehab, and work with some counselors who'll help her. If she agrees to do those things, they'll let her out, and, after she does them, you can probably go back and live with her."

Kevin actually felt a bit relieved. At least his mother was off the streets. At least someone was keeping an eye on her. "So she won't be in jail for, like, the next twenty years?"

"Of course not," Troy told him. "They're going to help her, and maybe she won't feel like she has to leave again. Because when someone goes away like that, it usually means that they need help."

"My father left us," Kevin mused, half to himself. "Before Zac was born, even. And I don't think anything happened to him."

Troy didn't really know what to say to that. It was certainly a valid point. "I don't know why some people can get away with leaving, while other people can't."

"My father said he was coming back, though," Kevin told Troy. "When he left, he said he'd come back."

"Maybe he thought that he would." Troy chose his words carefully. He didn't want to instill false hope, but he didn't want to burst any of Kevin's bubbles, either. "It's hard to know why people go away." Shoot, he thought. I sound like Mr. Rogers.

"He said he'd call sometimes," Kevin continued, a faraway expression in his eyes. "Like on my birthday or something." He was quiet for a moment. "He never did, though."

"I don't cry any more," Kevin finally told him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "He's never coming back." He looked up at Troy. "If your father doesn't call you on your birthday, you shouldn't feel bad." He glanced down at his hands, thinking.

Troy held Kevin a little more tightly. He didn't say anything, waiting.

"You know, I was kind of hoping that he would call this year." A small, faraway smile played at the corners of Kevin's mouth, and Troy wondered if he knew he was speaking aloud. "I waited and waited all day, kind of thinking that maybe he'd remember this year. But he didn't." He took a deep breath, absently picking at a cuticle. "I thought maybe, if my father didn't call, my mother might come home. Or she might call, even, if she remembered that it was my birthday."

Troy nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Kevin drew his legs up to his chest, his bare feet resting on the edge of the sofa cushion. He wrapped his arms around himself, resting his chin on his knees. "But she didn't. And I mean, not that it's important or anything, but I kind of wished one of them would. Because I knew I wasn't getting any presents or anything, and I didn't care about that. I just wished my dad would keep his promise."

"Yeah," Troy agreed. He was angry, all of the sudden, deeply saddened and filled with wonderment. Kevin didn't sound bitter about any of that. Just. . . wistful. God, Troy thought. No wonder he can't trust anyone.

"Anyway," Kevin finished, "A lot of people's parents forget about them." This fact was, Troy sensed, was supposed to be reassuring. "It probably wasn't anything they did. I mean, I know my parents left because of me, because I ruined their lives."

Troy was really angry now. "Who told you that?" he demanded, trying to keep the rage out of his voice.

"My mother," Kevin told him. "But I would have known it anyway."

"Why?" Troy asked.

"Because she had me when she was too young," Kevin told him. "And she didn't really love my father. And I was a mistake. So I pretty much wrecked her life."

"Is that what she told you?" Troy asked him.

Kevin nodded.

"She was wrong," Troy told him. "She was completely wrong, Kev. There's no such thing as a mistake."

"She didn't want me, though," Kevin pointed out.

"Maybe she didn't think she did," Troy told him, "but you were definitely one of the best things that ever happened to her."

"How do you know that?" Kevin asked.

"Didn't I tell you I would never tell you a lie?" Troy asked.

Kevin thought about this. "Yeah, but if she didn't have me, she wouldn't have had to live with my father, and have two more kids, and she wouldn't leave."

"Yeah. . ." Troy told him, "but she'd have no reason to come back." He squeezed his eyes shut, sensing the inadequacy of his answer.

Kevin bit his lip. "She says I'm too much like him."

"Like who?" Troy asked. "Your father?"

"Yeah." Kevin agreed. "She says I look like him and I talk like him, and that I'm probably going to leave as soon as I can. Like he did." He blinked hard a few times. "But I wouldn't leave, really." He paused. "Sometimes, though, I wish I could."

"It must be hard for you," Troy observed, wondering if he was helping at all.

"Don't tell anyone I told you that, okay?" Kevin asked. "Because I never really would leave. But sometimes I wish that I lived someplace else, and I didn't have all of these people who counted on me for everything all the time." He smiled. "Andy and Zac think I know everything. But I really don't."

"They really look up to you," Troy agreed.

Kevin nodded, still smiling that distant smile. "Yeah. The other day, we were walking down the street and there was this dead cat by the side of the road? Like that had been hit by a car? And, I mean, it was really dead. Really dead. And Andy said 'I wish we had a cat.' And I said, 'That cat's dead, you don't want it.' And then, he said that he really did want a cat, and Zac said, 'don't worry, Andy, Kevin will fix it and we can bring it home.' They both thought that it was a great idea, and they start saying 'fix it, fix it!' They didn't believe me when I told them that I couldn't. In fact, Andy told Zac that I didn't feel like fixing it because we didn't have any money to get cat food!" He grinned, remembering. "But I can't bring dead things back to life, not for real. And there are a lot of other things I can't do. But they don't believe me. It's like having two kids."

"That must get hard," Troy observed, gently.

Kevin blinked, confused. "No, not really."

"It doesn't?" Troy was a bit incredulous.

"Yeah. . . I just wish I knew what to tell them." Kevin began to retreat back into himself. "Because they ask so many questions, and I don't know the answers to most of them. And I really would fix that cat for him, if I could. We'd find some way to feed it, I guess. Because. . ." Kevin hugged himself more tightly, thinking hard. "Because I want to be able to say yes when one of them wants something. And I wish I could do so much more than I already am. I know that I could take care of us, even if my mom can't." He sighed hugely. "I wish people would believe me about that. Because grown-ups think they know everything, but they don't."

Troy felt helpless. "I know what you mean, buddy. Grown-ups don't always know as much as they think."

Kevin nodded, then glanced up at Troy and abruptly changed the subject. "I meant to tell you thank you for getting us those Ninja Turtles today."

Troy smiled, wondering what this meant. Did Kevin no longer see him as an adult? "Oh, you're welcome. It was a birthday present."

"Because. . ." Kevin thought for a moment, deciding whether or not he was going to say it. "Because nobody ever gave me anything that way before. And so it surprised me, kind of." He yawned. "Thank you."

Troy racked his brain, thinking of some way to express all that he wanted to tell Kevin. "You're welcome," he managed. "It wasn't anything big, really. It's nice that you're so polite about it, though." He grinned. "Maybe we should do it more often."

Kevin looked startled. For the life of him, he could not figure this Troy Bolton guy out.

"That's okay," he assured him. "I think one Ninja Turtle'll last me awhile."

Troy could have laughed, cried or hugged him. Instinctively, though, he knew that Kevin wasn't ready to be touched just yet. "We'll see," he said. "You might change your mind."

------------------

I swear it, I swear it, there will be some Troypay in the next chapter. But the thing is, is that this story is more about what it takes to make a family and what family really means than Troy and Sharpay's romance. And if that's all you really want to read, then I'm sorry, but this is not the story for you. That said, I really hope everyone continues to read this, because I'm really proud of this.

Tell me what you think!

margaret


	8. Chapter 7

**Title:** Elsewhere

**Summary:** It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they are staying.

-----------------

**Chapter Seven**

"Boy! Hey, boy! Hey, you over there!"

Andy glanced up. "Me?"

"Yeah, you." Allen grinned, showing front teeth too big for his mouth. "You, boy. What's your name?"

"Andy," said Andy, wishing Sharpay hadn't chosen this particular moment to run downstairs to get coffee and something for breakfast. It was his second morning in the hospital. Allen's parents had gone to Toys R Us to buy their little darling presents, and now Allen had decided to be friendly. Andy didn't know if he was interested in Allen's friendship.

"What kind of a name is that?" Allen made a face. "That's a stupid name."

Andy was worried. "Nobody ever told me that before."

"It's okay," Allen told him. "You're just a little baby. But by the time you get to be old, like, eight or something, you had better change your name."

"Why?" Andy asked.

"You don't want to go through life with a name like Andy." Allen rolled his eyes, as if this fact should be obvious.

"Why not?" Andy pursued. He'd never thought much about his name before.

"Because it's stupid." Allen pursed his lips. "You really are a baby, aren't you?"

"I'm five," Andy informed him. Five, he knew, was not a baby.

"Five." Allen looked up at the ceiling. "No wonder. You're in kindergarten, right?"

Andy nodded. What was wrong with kindergarten?

"Baby," Allen scoffed. "I'm eight."

Andy smiled. "So's my brother!"

Allen hadn't counted on this. He was an only child, and when people started dragging their siblings into the conversation, he could no longer compete on the same field. Allen's field, one he'd perfected over time, was one-upmanship. Anything anyone else had, he had, too- and better. Except for siblings.

"What's his name?" Allen demanded.

"Kevin," Andy told him.

Allen burst out laughing. "That's an even dumber name than Andy!"

"No it's not!" Andy folded his arms. "My brother could beat you up."

"No he couldn't!" Allen laughed loudly. "How old is he?"

"Seven," Andy began, then caught himself. "No, eight. He's eight now. So he could so beat you up."

"I'm going to be nine soon," Allen informed him, importantly.

"That's funny. . . " Andy squinted across the room at Allen. "You don't look like you're going to be nine soon."

"That's because I'm tall for my age," Allen explained.

"No, I thought you were maybe about seven," Andy lied. "Because you're so short."

Allen's face purpled. "I AM NOT SHORT!" he yelled. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S SHORT, SHRIMP!"

"If my brother heard you call me that, he'd come and punch you in the face," Andy intoned.

"I bet you don't even have a brother," Allen observed, dourly.

"I do too. . . two brothers," Andy told him. "And as soon as I get out of the hospital, maybe we'll all beat you up." He felt himself beginning to cough again, and snaked one of his hands beneath the thin fabric of his hospital gown, pressing his palm against his chest. Pain stabbed against his rib cage and he leaned back against the pillow, willing it to go away.

"I don't believe you." Allen folded his arms and scowled.

"It's true." Andy gasped for air, breathing shakily. Inside, though, he brimmed with triumph. "My brother is stronger than anybody. He can do anything." He stuck his tongue out at Allen. "So there."

"Oh yeah?" Allen challenged.

"Yeah!" Andy affirmed. He was getting tired of Allen, tired of the hospital, tired of everything. Talking about his brothers made him miss them. He wanted to get out of here, but he was scared of what would happen after he did.

"Allen, I have good news for you!" The nurse who entered the room appeared buoyantly happy. "You can go home today!"

"And he doesn't get to." Allen shot a superior look at Andy. "He has to stay here and get shots, right?"

Andy felt his lower lip quiver. He bit it, not wanting to cry, but his eyes filled anyway.

The nurse looked like she could have happily killed Allen. "Well, maybe he's not going to go home right away," she admitted. "But that's because we like him too much to let him leave." She grinned at Andy, winking. He smiled back, wanly. He wished she wouldn't leave. Everybody who did anything nice for him always ended up leaving. Maybe even Sharpay. . . what if she didn't come back? What if he never saw either of his brothers again?

Andy felt his skin prickle into goosebumps. He was terrified.

"I know something about you," Allen said, as soon as the nurse was out of earshot. "My mommy said I shouldn't tell you that I knew it."

"What?" Andy asked, wondering what Allen was talking about.

"That lady who's with you, she's not your real mother at all," Allen said. "She isn't even related to you. She never even met you before Friday."

"I know that," Andy said, wondering if Allen thought that he was stupid.

"And your real mommy went away and she left you for days and days," Allen went on, sounding gleeful.

It didn't surprise Andy that Allen knew that. When his mommy went away, he thought the whole world had to know it. "So? Maybe she had stuff to do. They found her now, though."

"Stuff to do," Allen scoffed. "Yeah, right. When they found her, they put her into jail."

Andy's heart skipped a beat. "They did not."

"They did so." There was triumph in Allen's voice. "Why else hasn't she come to see you, or even called you? The nurse told my mommy that your mommy is in jail."

Andy felt anger rise within him. "Your mommy lied. She lied to you."

"She did not." Allen crossed his arms and grinned hugely. "Your mommy is in jail. And you want to know why?"

Andy's lower lip quivered. "Why?"

"Because she went away and left you. Because she doesn't love you." Allen watched for a reaction. He got one.

Andy started to cry. "She did so love me! She did so!"

"No she didn't." Allen wiped his glasses and slid them onto his face. "She hates you."

Andy looked around for something to throw. There was a pen next to the bed, and he heaved it at Allen. It didn't go far. "YOU'RE LYING!" he bellowed, beginning to cough again. "MY MOMMY IS NOT IN JAIL!"

Half a minute later, Sharpay's pager went off. Something told her she needed to get upstairs as fast as possible, and she was right.

"We can't get him to calm down." The nurse's voice was apologetic. "We can't even figure out what's wrong. . ." She stood by helplessly as Sharpay dashed into the hospital room, reacting on instinct when she heard Andy crying.

"Honey, what's the matter?" It struck Sharpay that this was the first time since he'd been in the hospital that she'd seen Andy cry. She figured he had a lot of emotions to let out. Right now, he was angry, fighting off anyone who tried to come near him. "I want my mommy!" he wailed, turning away from her. "Go away!"

Sharpay told herself that she shouldn't be offended. She sat down in a chair at the edge of the bed. "I know you do," she said, her voice gentle. "I really wish your mommy could be here right now."

"She's not really in jail!" Andy sounded as if he were trying to convince himself, as well as Sharpay, that what he was saying was true. "She isn't really in jail, is she?"

"Who told you that?" Sharpay's stomach jumped into her throat. "Who told you she was in jail?"

"He did." Andy pointed at Allen, who had assumed a baffled look.

"Why is he crying?"

Sharpay wanted to strangle the kid. "Well, he shouldn't have told you that, Andy. He really, really shouldn't have."

Andy managed to catch his breath for a moment. "She's not in jail, right?"

"Honey. . ." Sharpay paused. "She is."

Andy looked up again. "She is?"

"I'm sorry you had to find out. . ." Sharpay began.

Andy drew a long, shaky breath. He looked stricken. "She is," he repeated, in a whisper. He buried his head in his arms, sobbing quietly, defeatedly, hopelessly. When Sharpay put her arms around him, he let her.

"Honey, I am so, so sorry," Sharpay whispered. Tears came to her eyes. "I'm so sorry." She bit her lip. There was nothing else she could tell him.

--------------

Well hey there, everyone! Thanks so much for all your encouragement. I have a little oneshot I'm working on, in light of the whole mini-Spears debacle and the recent social-terrorist attacks on the Planned Parenthood surgical center and another abortion clinic in Albuquerque. It's really freaking preachy right now. It's just that all of these stories that just treat teenage pregnancy so flippantly worry me to the highest end…anyway, I'm trying to get off the soapbox but it's not going so well.

Leave a review! The next chapter should be up shortly.

margaret


	9. Chapter 8

**Title: **Elsewhere

**Summary:** It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying.

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**Chapter Eight**

"When is he getting here?" Kevin perched in a chair next to the front window, restless and impatient.

"A little while." Troy skimmed through the comics section of the newspaper. "I can draw better than this," he told Zac. "I bet you can to."

Zac looked up from the piece of paper he was scribbling on. His eyes were solemn. "I can."

"A little while is what you said a long time ago," Kevin told Troy. "Not to bother you or anything, but how long do you mean when you say a little while?"

Troy didn't look up. "Within a year."

"Now, I know that's a lie." Kevin folded his arms across his chest. "How long, really?"

"Within a half an hour," Troy told him. "Does that satiate your curiosity?"

"What does that mean?" Kevin asked.

"Never mind." Troy stretched. "It's hard to wait, huh?"

"Uh huh." Kevin rested his chin on his forearm. "Time goes by so slow. . ."

"Last year I was two," Zac added, incongruously. "Only two. And then I had my birthday, and Kevin and Andy said 'happy birthday!' And I said 'oh, it's my birthday?' and they said 'yeah,' and I was three."

"When was that?" Troy asked him.

"About forty-eleven years ago," Zac told him, seriously.

"Oh, okay." Troy winked at Kevin. "Forty-eleven."

"It was forty eleven years ago!" Zac's lower lip went out. "Forty six, forty-two, forty-nine, forty-eleven. Forty eleven!"

"Is that the way it works?" Troy asked.

Again, Zac was forced to shake his head at Troy's ignorance. "Yes."

"Okay," Troy nodded. "I'll remember that now."

"You better, or you'll always miss Sesame Street," Zac told him. "It comes on everyday, and if you can't tell time, you might miss it."

"That would be tragic," Troy agreed. "I'd cry."

"You shouldn't cry," Zac scoffed. "You're a great big old man. Old mans don't cry."

"This old man cries if he misses Sesame Street," Troy grinned.

"Old mans don't watch Sesame Street, either," Zac informed him.

"Is that them?" Kevin peered off down the street, squinting. "I think that's them."

"Is it a little green car?" Troy asked him.

"Uh huh," Kevin agreed.

"Then it's them all right," Troy concurred.

"Hurry up!" Kevin told the car. "We've been waiting all day!"

"Yeah, car!" Troy piped. "We can't wait even forty eleven more seconds."

"No we can't," Zac put down his pen and picked up a pencil. "Not even forty twenty nine more seconds."

"Not even forty-twenty nine," Troy agreed.

"Let's go outside and see them," Zac suggested. This sounded like a good idea, and so they did.

Sharpay Bolton, Kevin thought, was a very hugging person. She certainly held on to Troy a long time when she first walked in the door, and every time you turned around, it seemed she was putting her arms around you again. He thought, out of loyalty to his mother, that maybe he shouldn't like it, but he kind of did. He smiled. Andy was nestled in blankets on the couch, somewhere between asleep and awake. Sharpay had gone upstairs and fallen asleep, and Zac had climbed into bed next to her. Then, Troy had gone looking for Zac, and, finding him with Sharpay, had decided to take a nap himself. Kevin figured that he was the only person in this whole house who was awake. It gave him time to think. He had to figure out what to do next. He wished he knew what was going to happen next. . .

"Kev? Hey, Kevin?" Andy opened his eyes suddenly, scanning the room until he found his older brother. "What happened while I was gone?"

Kevin looked up "Oh, hi. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I was resting." Andy played with the edge of the blanket. "In the hospital, I got a lot of shots, and they hurt."

"Is that what all the Band-Aids are from?" Kevin asked him. He'd noticed that his brother seemed to be sporting a lot of Superman bandages.

"Uh huh. But this was from an IV. . ." Andy pointed to a piece of gauze taped to his forearm. "A needle was stuck in my arm."

"Ouch." Kevin swallowed. He didn't want to think about people hurting his brother, even if they were trying to help him.

"But I was brave," Andy assured him. "Sharpay said I was very brave."

"Yeah, I knew you would be," Kevin agreed.

"I know," Andy smiled. "I thought you would think I was brave. This one kid, he was older than you, and he cried all the time." His eyes darkened. "And he was mean."

"What was his name?" Kevin asked.

"Allen the Butthead." Andy's lower lip went out. "I hated him."

"You shouldn't hate people." Kevin said mildly. "What did he do?"

"You know what he said?" Andy burst out. "He said that mommy left because. . . because she didn't love us."

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut. "Andy, that's not true. That's not true at all."

"Why does she leave, Kevin?" Andy asked, his eyes brimming with tears. "I think she does hate us."

"No. . . I think she just doesn't love me," Kevin told him. "Because she says I'm too much like he was. Our father. She says I'm too much like him, but she loves you and Zac, Andy, she really does."

"But sometimes I'm bad," Andy said. "Sometimes I don't behave."

"That's not your fault," Kevin told him. "You're just a little kid. If it was anyone's fault, it was my fault."

"It was my fault," Andy contested. "It was both our faults, maybe."

"No, my fault," Kevin sighed.

"My fault!" Andy insisted.

"Anyway, we can't change it," Kevin told him. "We can't depend on her. We can only depend on each other."

"I think we can depend on Troy and Sharpay," Andy suggested.

Kevin shook his head. "I really don't know. It's probably better not to." He swallowed. "Do you think we should?"

Andy coughed, squirming into a more comfortable position. "I think they're nice," he said. "Kev, maybe it would be better if we did, because I don't know as much as you do."

"Well, you're only five," Kevin pointed out.

"Yeah, but what if anything ever happened to you?" Andy asked. "What would happen if you got sick?"

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Kevin assured him. "I promise."

"Well, what if something did?" Andy persisted. "We can't just trust each other."

"We can try," Kevin told him.

"No we can't." Andy's lower lip went out. "You aren't a grown-up, Kevin. You don't know everything."

"Andy. . ." Kevin chewed on a fingernail. "Andy. . . I don't know everything, but. . ."

"That's right." Andy scowled. "You only know a little bit."

"Yeah, but I do know that grown-ups split you up and put you into foster care," Kevin defended. "Do you want that to happen?"

Andy's eyes grew watery. "I just want to know when Mommy's coming back. And nobody tells me anything. And she's in jail and she hates us, and now she's going to hate us even more."

"Andy. . ." Kevin began. "I wish I knew. I don't think anyone knows."

"I don't care how much she hits me!" Andy cried. "I just want her to come back!"

"I know. . ." Kevin thought about his mother. She had moments of being nice, and sometimes he felt really sorry for her. He'd wake up in the middle of the night sometimes to see her silhouetted in the doorway, the expression in her eyes unreadable. He didn't think she deserved the life she'd had. Other times, like when she'd storm through the front door and start hitting the first kid she saw, Kevin hated his mother. He wished she'd go to hell. There were times when Kevin thought he would have been perfectly happy never to see his mother again. They'd be better off without her, he'd told himself. Way better off.

Andy struggled to catch his breath. He brushed the tears out of his eyes and yawned.

"Kevin, don't go anywhere, okay? Not anywhere."

Kevin felt defeated. "Where would I go?"

"I don't know," Andy admitted. "Just stay here, okay?"

"Andy, I would never leave like she does," Kevin promised. "I swear. Have I ever lied to you?"

Andy yawned again. "You said that Santa Claus died in a bus accident."

"That was because he wasn't coming." Kevin was matter of fact. "Anyway, he did die in a bus accident. Watch and see if he comes this year. He won't. Again."

"Because he's dead," Andy supplied.

"Because he's dead," Kevin agreed. "And the tooth fairy's dead, too."

"Yeah, some kid's parents got her with a fly swatter," Kevin agreed. "So that's why she doesn't come."

"And the Easter Bunny got killed in a drive-by," Andy remembered. "So that's why he doesn't come."

"Yeah," Kevin nodded. He'd felt kind of bad inventing horrible deaths for childhood mythological figures, but he had to get rid of them somehow. Andy and Zac would never buy a simple "they're not real."

"A girl in my class went to the mall, though, and she saw four Santa Clauses," Andy argued. "All at once."

Kevin thought fast. "Well, you see. . . there's a bunch of 'em, there has to be. Because every year at least four Santa Clauses come down the chimney and someone comes out and thinks their house is being robbed, so they shoot him. Anyway, do you really believe that one guy, in one night, can visit every kid in the world who believes in him and leave them all presents? Of course not. So there's millions of Santa Clauses."

"So how come we never see Santa Claus?" Andy asked.

"For one thing, we don't have a chimney," Kevin pointed out. "For another, there's no way Santa Claus would ever, ever come to our neighborhood."

"Yeah," Andy agreed. "I didn't think of that."

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Thanks for everyone's support and reviews! Leave another one!

margaret


	10. Chapter 9

**Title: Elsewhere**

**Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying.**

**------------------**

**Chapter Nine**

"She's coming," Andy said, trying to remain confident. "I know she is."

Early December snows had drifted over the ground, washing the world in lacy white. It was a week and a half after the boys had first come to stay with Troy and Sharpay, and Mary, the social worker, had arranged a visit with their mother.

Kathleen had agreed to attend a residential drug and alcohol treatment program and attend counseling and parenting classes. If she could get her life back together, it was decided, it would ultimately be better for everyone involved. Kathleen sounded like she was ready to make an effort, Troy thought, wondering how well she'd succeed. He didn't know. The visit had been scheduled for twelve thirty. . . it was one fifteen now.

The air in the tiny office was electric with anticipation. It was true, Troy realized, that kids really did harbor loyalty to their parents, no matter what kind of parents they had. He'd done a lot of reading, and several sources had examined the effects of abuse upon children. Often, they tended to transfer the blame from the perpetrators of the abuse to themselves, which, he realized, Kevin had done very strongly. Kevin. God. . . the kid had hardly said a word in the past few days. Who did he talk to? Andy?

Troy grinned. He loved Andy, but he doubted you could get much out of the kid that made any sense. A few days before he'd wandered past the boy's bedroom at night and peered through the door. Kevin and Zac were both asleep. Andy was staring out the window, murmuring softly.

"What are you doing?" Troy had whispered.

Andy looked up, not at all startled, and smiled at Troy. "The moon people," he said. "I'm singing to them."

That had prompted Troy to go over and feel Andy's forehead, expecting to find the kid burning with fever and delirious. He wasn't, though. . . his skin was cooler than it had been in days and he seemed completely lucid, except for the bizarre things he was saying.

"The moon people like it when you sing to them," Andy explained. "You have to sing the moon people song."

"How does that go?" Troy knelt next to the bed, wondering if the child was possessed.

"Moon people, moon people, moon people, moon people," Andy sang. "Everybody go to sleep. Everybody go to sleep. It's night. It's late. Everybody go to sleep."

"Everyone can see the moon people!" Andy assured him. "You just have to look. But Ike doesn't. He tells me all the moon people fell off the moon, and they're dead."

Troy tried hard not to grin. "Why'd he tell you that?"

Andy scratched his head. "I don't know. I woke him up in the middle of the night so he could see the moon people, and he said he'd rather sleep."

"Kevin certainly has his priorities mixed up," Troy commented.

"He does not!" Andy narrowed his eyes at Troy. "He's is the best older brother I ever had in my whole entire life."

"He's very nice," Troy agreed. "But he doesn't want to see the moon people?"

"No." Andy shook his head. "Even though I told him the moon people want to meet him." He smiled at Troy. "They wanted to meet you, too."

"Oh." Troy felt vaguely uncomfortable. "Hi, moon people!" He waited. "What are they saying?"

"They say they want you to sing to us," Andy said. "The moon people song."

Troy nodded. "Okay. Let me remember it." He took a deep breath. "Moon people, moon people, moon people, moon people. Everybody go to sleep. Everybody got to sleep. It's night. It's late. Andy had better go to sleep."

Andy giggled. "No, I'm not tired."

"Well, you'd better go to sleep, or I'll do a little moon peopling of my own. . ." Troy had no idea what that meant, but decided it sounded sufficiently intimidating.

"Sing it again," Andy prompted. Troy took a deep breath.

"Moon people, moon people. . ."

--------------

Jesus, Troy thought, looking at his watch. It was nearly one thirty. Zac had climbed into Mary's desk chair and was scribbling on a piece of paper. Kevin was sitting on the edge of his chair, his feet planted firmly on the floor and his hands clasped between his knees. Head down, he contemplated the carpet. Andy was staring through the slats in the blinds, scanning the parking lot for any sign of his mother.

Troy and Mary exchanged a knowing glance. She wasn't coming.

"When's my mommy getting here?" Zac piped. He tried to remember what his mother looked like, but could only remember Sharpay. He wanted to see his mommy. He remembered that she had blond hair too and sometimes she liked him. Sometimes she didn't like him. Zac bit his lip. "She said she would come, so where is she?"

"She's coming," Andy said, hope rising in his voice. "I think I saw her in that car."

"Where?" Kevin, Mary, Troy and Zac all turned to face him at the same time. Andy squinted out the window.

"It isn't her," he decided, his voice trailing off. "It isn't. . ."

"She never does what she says she's going to do," Kevin muttered. "She doesn't even care enough to come and visit her own kids."

"Kevin. . ." Mary extended a sympathetic arm to him, but he backed away.

"Don't touch me. Please?"

Troy and Mary exchanged another glance. He wasn't going to be able to hold it in much longer. . .

"She's not coming?" Andy's lower lip quivered. "You think she's not coming, Kevin?"

"She's coming, don't worry." Zac turned around, concerned, and patted Andy on the back.

"She's coming, right Kev?"

"No," Kevin informed him, dourly.

"Don't listen to him," Zac told Andy. "She's coming."

"No she's not!" Kevin's voice sounded dangerously close to breaking.

"Yes she is, too." Andy defended, as Zac's eyes filled.

"Maybe she won't come! Maybe she forgot!"

"The three of you!" Troy interceded. "Maybe something happened to her. Maybe she ran out of gas. Maybe her car broke down. Maybe something happened and she couldn't call. I'm sure she wouldn't forget about you."

"I'm not," Kevin scowled. Troy had to admit that the kid had a point.

"My mommy hates us," Zac observed, his voice emotionless. Troy pulled him into his lap.

"She does not hate you."

"She does too." Zac rested his head against Troy's chest and put his thumb in his mouth. "She does too hate us."

"No she doesn't," Troy murmured. "No she doesn't."

"Maybe that's her. . ." Andy began, his eyes darting hopefully toward a particular car.

"Andy, she's not coming," Kevin told his younger brother.

"Yes she is! Don't say that!" Andy clenched his hands into fists and scowled. "She is too!" He thought. "Maybe we should wave out the window or something for her. Maybe she wants to come in, but she can't see where the room is."

"Honey, I don't think so," Mary began, hesitantly.

"Well, maybe she doesn't want to come in," Andy suggested. "Maybe she wants to stand in the parking lot and wave."

"She wouldn't take the time out of her busy schedule," Kevin scoffed. Troy found himself amazed by the kid. He was smart. . . you couldn't put anything past him. . . but he sensed a building desperation surrounding Kevin. . . he was someone who wasn't going to put up with much more, who couldn't put up with much more. He didn't know any eight year olds who knew so much about life, but what Kevin had seen hadn't impressed him much.

"She isn't going to come. I knew she wasn't." Kevin let out a long, shaky breath. "I didn't think that she'd come. I didn't ever believe it."

"But she said she would!" Andy struggled not to cry. "She said she would come."

"She doesn't want to see us," Kevin told him. "We should know that."

"Andy, Kevin. . ." Troy rested his chin on the top of Zac's head and wondered if there was anyway he could make this any easier, any less painful. "You know, I don't know what happened with your mother."

"Maybe she will call," Mary suggested. "We could always reschedule the visit. Would you excuse me a second? I have to go make a phone call. . ."

"See?" Troy asked, as soon as Mary left. "We can always reschedule the visit for another day."

"No we couldn't." Kevin set his jaw firmly. "Because I don't want to see her." The instant he said the words, he wished he could take them back, but he couldn't. "I don't want to see her..."

"You have to, Kev, it's Mommy!" There was a note of desperation in Andy's voice. "It's Mommy!"

"Well, if she doesn't want to see me, I don't want to see her," Kevin insisted. "I don't."

"She isn't coming," Zac said, simply. "Mommy's not coming."

"See, he knows it," Kevin told Andy. "He knows it, but you don't believe it."

"Mommy isn't coming?" Andy drew in a deep, shaky breath. "She's not?"

"No," Kevin told him.

"Buddy, it doesn't look that way," Troy began. "I wish I could tell you she was. . ."

Zac looked from Troy to Kevin. "Why does she say she's coming, and then not come?"

"Because she's a liar," Kevin told him. "You can't believe a single thing she says."

"You're a liar!" Andy burst out. "And I don't believe a single thing you say."

Troy saw a flicker of deep pain in Kevin's eyes, but it disappeared so quickly he wondered if he was imagining things. "Go ahead. See if I care."

"And Mommy's not coming," Andy said, his voice even, level and calculated, "because of you."

The room fell silent. "That isn't true," Troy said. "Andy, that isn't true at all. . ."

Kevin stood up suddenly, and dashed out the door and down the hall. Carefully, Troy set Zac into the chair and started after him.

Zac turned to his brother. "Andy, you shouldn't have said that."

"I know!" Andy wailed. He burst into tears.

--------------------

"Kevin?" Troy pushed the door to the men's' room open. "kev, are you in here?"

"I hate her, I hate her, I hate her I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. . ." Kevin was beating his fists against the tiled wall, taking his anger out on something that couldn't hit him back. He was seething.

"Kev, don't do that. You'll hurt yourself." Troy put his arms around Kevin to hold him away from the wall. Kevin fought against him with all the strength he could muster.

"Let me go, okay?" the tone of Kevin's voice bordered on hysterical. "Let me go!"

"Are you going to throw yourself against the wall again?" Troy asked.

"Yes," Kevin assured him.

"Sorry," Troy apologized. "I can't, in that case. You'll hurt yourself."

Kevin twisted around to face him. "Why do you care?"

Troy didn't pause. "Because I care about you. Calm down, you really will hurt yourself."

"You do not," Kevin told him. "You're lying too. Everybody lies!" He squeezed his eyes shut. Blood was trickling down his arm from where he'd scratched it on the tile. He tried to wrench out of Troy's grasp. "Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Leave you alone and let you do what, Kev? You can hit it and hit it, but you'll get hurt before the wall will." Troy's voice remained calm. "Now, what would you think of me if I let you do that?"

"I would be happy," Kevin told him. "At least I'd be dead, and I wouldn't have to see you anymore."

Troy almost grinned at that one, in spite of himself. "Yeah, that's true. Andy and Zac would be out of luck, though."

"I don't care," Worn out, Kevin had long ago stopped trying to fight his way out of Troy's grasp. "Mom can take care of them. She only likes them."

"Andy didn't mean that," Troy said, loosening his grip on Kevin, waiting to see if the kid were going to throw himself against the wall again.

"He did too." Clumsily, Kevin ran the back of his arm across his eyes, in a futile attempt to hide the fact that he was crying. "He did. . . because it's true."

"No it's not," Troy shook his head. "No it's not at all."

"Then why did she leave?" Kevin was standing against the wall, and Troy was kneeling on the floor, looking up at him. "Why did she leave? Why can't she just stick around and be like everybody else's mother?" His back against the wall, Kevin sank to the floor, shaking with the effort to hold back sobs that were threatening to overwhelm him. Troy sat down next to him.

"I wish I knew, Kev, I wish I knew. But it wasn't because of you. It didn't have anything to do with you."

Kevin looked up. "I should have stopped her."

Troy looked directly into his eyes. "How?"

"I should have," Kevin repeated. "I don't know how. . ."

"Yeah, because that's not your job," Troy told him, gently. "You can't be responsible for what your mother does because she's a grown-up. She makes her own choices. And when she makes a bad choice, like she did when she left, and like she did today, you and Andy and Zac are the ones who have to live with it. That isn't very responsible of her."

Kevin, who had curled into a ball with his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on top of them, was listening intently, a faraway look in his eyes. This was the first time anyone had told him anything like this, told him that it wasn't his fault. He'd never even considered that his mother's behavior might not be his fault.

"Think about it. How easily can your mother make you do something?" Troy asked.

Kevin thought. "Pretty easy," he quavered.

"And how easily can you make her do something?" Troy asked him.

Kevin looked up. Tears were streaming down his face. "When she's drunk or high or something?"

Troy grimaced. This kid was going to break his heart. "Well, even then. Can you make her do anything you want?"

"No, not really." Kevin murmured, not lifting his head.

"So do you think you could have made her stay?"

Kevin drew in a deep breath. "If she loved us, she would have stayed. . ." That statement did him in. He broke down, the most completely alone human being Troy had ever seen.

"Buddy, come here a second." Without even thinking, Troy put his arms around Kevin again, as easily as if he were Zac. This time, Kevin didn't struggle away. It was the one of the first times in a long time that someone had touched him with no intention of hurting him. . . except for Sharpay. Sharpay was different. She would always be different. . .

A lot of time passed, or maybe a little. No one came in to the bathroom, and so Troy let Kevin cry, deciding it was the best thing that he could do right now. The kid was eight years old, and, even if he acted like he was going on twenty, his emotions were those of a little boy.

Finally, Kevin calmed down, his sobs turning into long, shuddering breaths. He closed his eyes and rested against Troy, too tired to move. "I'm sorry. . ."

Troy brushed his hair back from his forehead. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"For crying. . ." Kevin sounded matter of fact.

"Hey, it's unnatural for eight year olds not to cry," Troy noted. "Every eight year old cries."

"I didn't cry when I was seven," Kevin told him.

"Well, when I was eight I cried every day," Troy lied. "Sometimes all day."

"You did not," Kevin informed him.

"You know that for a fact?" Troy challenged.

Kevin thought. "Yes."

"Okay, so I didn't cry all day," Troy said. "But I did cry sometimes."

"Why did you cry?" Kevin asked him.

Troy thought. "I cried because. . . I cried because, sometimes, when you're a kid, crying's all that you can do."

"Yeah, I'll say," Kevin agreed, sighing. "Troy?"

"Uh huh?"

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" The question hung in the air between them, heavier than either of them imagined.

Troy answered immediately. "No, I won't tell."

Kevin sounded relieved. "Can I trust you on that?"

Troy was bemused. "Kevin, you can always trust me."

"Okay. . ." Kevin nodded. And from that moment on, he decided that if he had to trust anybody, he would trust Troy. Or maybe Sharpay. But he'd trusted her from the beginning . . .

---------------------

Thanks so much for everyone's kind reviews. Leave another one!

margaret


	11. Chapter 10

**Title: Elsewhere**

**Summary: It's emotionally draining, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they are not yours and you don't know how long they're staying.**

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**Chapter Ten**

"I don't understand her! I don't understand how she could do something like that!" A hard wall of rage had formed beneath Sharpay's diaphragm. She could scarcely remember having been this angry in her life. "I can't even begin to fathom what must have been going through her head!"

"I don't know." Troy shook his head, sighing. "I mean, on one hand, I feel for her. She has three little boys and no support system, and I don't think their father's been around since before Zac was born."

Sharpay nodded. "I guess I know that intellectually. Emotionally, though, I can't work up much sympathy for her. Everyone has choices in life, Troy. People are trying to help her now."

"That's the worst thing," Troy agreed. "It doesn't have to be this way. She could have called, she could have asked to arrange the visit in a place where she felt more comfortable, she could have asked to talk with the boys on the phone. . ."

"Do you think she doesn't realize that they just want to see her?" Sharpay asked. "That they just want to hear her voice?"

"It's awful." Troy exhaled sharply, sounding irritated. "You don't even know what to tell them."

"At least you tell them something," Sharpay reassured him. "I know you don't always feel it, but you are doing the right thing. I'm sure that nobody, in nine years, has ever told Kevin that it isn't his fault that his mother leaves. Can you imagine what it's like to go through your entire life believing that it's your fault your mother can hardly take care of herself?"

"Do you think it helps?" Troy asked, uncertainly.

"It helps a hell of a lot more than sitting back silently and letting them draw their own conclusions." There was absolute conviction in Sharpay's voice. "A hell of a lot more."

"I don't know." Troy shook his head. "I'm just scared of what might happen if I meet her. What I would say. What I would do. I don't know. I'm just so mad at her right now."

"Yeah." Sharpay nodded. "I would find it hard to forgive this. She's inflicting pain on three little boys, her sons. They're the ones who have to deal with what she's doing to them. She can't escape her responsibility to them, no matter how hard she tries."

"I wonder why she does it," Troy mused. "Because that's what they keep asking, and I can't come up with any answer that really feels sufficient. I don't have the slightest idea as to why she leaves. All I know is that I don't think there would ever be any circumstances, no matter how overwhelmed I was, in which I would leave my children."

"And I know that both of us are working with a lot more inner and outer resources than she probably has," Sharpay agreed. "But even Kevin. . . I mean, it has never crossed his mind that Andy and Zac aren't his full responsibility, and I have to say, he seems to do a way better job than his mother does." She ducked her head. "I feel awful saying things like that."

"It's true, though," Troy pointed out. "And I don't think he could live with himself if he didn't take care of them. In his mind, he's supposed to."

"It's the only thing he can do." Sharpay agreed.

Troy sighed. "And that's good, I mean, that he has that mentality. As opposed to feeling no responsibility whatsoever." He paused. "I mean, it's bad that he has to have that responsibility, that it's even an issue. But. . ."

"I know what you're saying," Sharpay agreed. "He rises to the occasion."

"And he can ask for help," Troy added. "But what happens in five years? In ten years?"

"All we can hope for is that their mother does get her life back together," Sharpay decided. "Or that they find some kind of placement which works for all three of them, where they can be together."

"I'd take 'em in a minute," Troy volunteered.

Sharpay nodded. "Me, too."

------------------

Zac had pulled the cushions off the couch and draped a blanket over them to make a little house. He sat in the small space, curled up into a ball, and pretended he was camping in the woods. This was his tent. He couldn't come out, or the bears might get him.

He could hear the soft rise and fall of Troy and Sharpay's voices from the kitchen, but he couldn't tell what they were saying. He wondered if it was about his mother. She was supposed to come that day. They'd even gone down and waited for her. But she didn't show up. He wondered why.

When his mother didn't visit when she said she would, it was a lot like she left again. It made his stomach hurt and he felt almost like crying. He hadn't cried, though. Not until Andy started.

Kevin ran away, and Troy went after him, and then Andy started crying. That had been when Zac felt tears sting his eyes and he buried his face in his hands. Then, the social worker came back in and took the two of them down the hall to go get M&Ms. Today, my mother didn't come, Zac thought, but I got some M&Ms instead.

The voices in the kitchen stopped. Zac could see Troy's feet through a crack in the blanket. They came out of the kitchen and into the living room, and they stopped in front of the tent. Zac scarcely dared to move. He had to be very still. . .

"Zac?" Troy called. His face appeared at the crack in the blanket. "Zac, are ya in there?"

"No!" Zac answered. If Troy found him, he'd make him come out and take a bath. "Zac's not in here."

"Really?" Troy arched an eyebrow. "Where'd he go?"

"He's gone," Zac assured him. "Not in here."

"Did he leave a message as to what time he'll be back?" Troy inquired.

"Tomorrow, I think," Zac told him. "In a long time."

"Why did he leave?" Troy asked.

Zac leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I think it's because I don't want to take a bath. I mean, Zac."

"He doesn't?" Troy's mouth dropped open. "That's too bad. I'm going to miss him."

Zac paused, considering this. "You are?"

"Yeah, I'll miss him terribly," Troy assured him. "I'll cry."

Zac was worried. "If I tell him you'll cry, maybe he'll come back."

"Tell him that he can take a bath in the morning, if he'd rather." Troy offered.

"Hold on." Zac crept back into the dark recesses of the tent. "I'll ask him." He was gone only a few seconds.

"What does he say?" Troy asked.

"He says that that sounds good to him," Zac told him. "He thinks maybe I'll do that."

"Okay." Troy grinned. "May I ask who you are?"

"No," Zac shook his head. "It's a secret."

"Oh." Troy nodded, folding the blanket back over the opening. "It's a secret."

------------------

"She maybe was stuck in a big traffic jam and she couldn't call." Andy was lying on his stomach on Troy and Sharpay's bed, his chin resting on his hand. "Or maybe the phone was dead. Maybe she forgot to pay the phone bill again. I bet that's what she did."

Sharpay sighed. All afternoon long, Andy had been coming up with possible explanations as to why his mother hadn't visited that day. She didn't have the heart to tell him how unrealistic most of them were.

Zac, on the other hand, was a different story. "Could we please not talk about this?" he begged, gripping Sharpay's shoulder as she helped him with the snaps on his pajamas.

"Please?"

"But there has to be some reason. . ." Andy began.

"Don't talk about it anymore!" Zac buried his face in Sharpay's shoulder.

"Andy, I think it would be better if you talked about something else," Sharpay suggested.

"Wait, one more," Andy urged. "What if they wouldn't let her call. . ."

"NO!" Zac bellowed. "No, no, no, no, NO!" Sharpay rubbed his back through his shirt.

"Andy, don't talk about it anymore. He doesn't want to hear it."

Andy sighed hugely, rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine." His lower lip went out in a Shirley Temple kind of pout. "It was just an idea."

Sharpay glanced over at him and smiled. "I know you're coming up with a lot of different ideas, honey, but it's over. It already happened. It's no use thinking about it anymore."

"You said you were sure she had a good reason, though," Andy persisted. "You did say that."

"Yeah, I'm sure she had a good reason," Sharpay lied. "She definitely had a good reason."

"Like maybe aliens got her?" Andy suggested. "I saw it on TV."

"Stop!" Zac wailed, clinging to Sharpay. "Make him stop!"

"Are you okay, honey?" Sharpay felt his forehead. "Do you feel all right?"

"I want him to stop talking about it!" Zac made a face at Andy. "You stop, all right?"

"I was just saying," Andy grumbled. Again, the pout. Sharpay wished she could let him talk about his mother as much as he wanted, but Zac had turned clingy in the past half hour, not wanting to let her out of his sight. Kevin was sleeping. He'd been asleep since Troy had gotten the boys home that afternoon. Sharpay reached over and ruffled Andy's hair. This had been an awful day for all three of them.

---------------------

Andy was a champion staller, Troy reflected. He'd never seen anyone who came up with so many excuses for staying up for five more minutes, and most of them were funny. Zac had settled down almost as soon as Sharpay had tucked him into bed and he lay watching his brother through heavy lidded eyes, his thumb in his mouth. Andy, on the other hand, seemed to have gotten a second wind, and was attempting to keep Troy in the room as long as he possibly could.

"Just one second, I forgot to brush my teeth!"

"Just one second, I have to go back and go pee. If I don't, I might wet the bed. And Zac's sleeping in the same bed as me. Would you want to sleep with someone who wet the bed?"

"Just one second, I have to go see what time it is."

"Just one second," Troy had finally mimicked, "I have to go watch the Late Late Show to see who the guests are."

Andy's eyes grew wide. "Do you think that maybe I should go do that?"

"No!" Troy whispered, terrified of what he'd started. "I think you should go to sleep!"

Andy sighed. "Can I say something about my mother?" Zac's eyes shot open. He looked worried.

"Sure, go ahead." Troy had missed the scene in the bedroom. "But you have to whisper really quietly, okay?" He glanced over at Kevin, who hadn't stirred throughout all of Andy's attempts at delaying bedtime. "If he wakes up now, he'll never get back to sleep."

"Do you think maybe they didn't find her at all?" Andy wondered. "Maybe they just pretended they did. And they lied to us that they did. And then they told us she didn't come."

"Noooooooo. . ." Zac quavered.

"Andy. . ." Troy began.

"Fine." Andy drew in a long breath and heaved an extended sigh. "I was just saying maybe."

------------------

Late that night, Sharpay found herself awake. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 2:47. Four more hours until she had to get up. She closed her eyes. Trying to go back to sleep seemed useless.

She climbed out of bed and crept down the hall and into the boys' room. In the dim glow of the nightlight, she could make out that all three of them were still there and still breathing. Zac was curled against the wall, his thumb just outside his mouth. He was clutching the silky edge of the receiving blanket like it was a lifeline.

Andy was lying on his stomach with one arm thrown over the edge of the bed, his fingertips brushing the bloated, graying cat who lay on the floor next to him. Gallagher had been with them since Troy's grandfather passed away; in three years he'd hated everyone except Andy. Andy responded in kind, treating Gallagher as if he were a cross between a crotchety elderly gentleman and an adorable little baby. Gallagher lapped it up.

Kevin, in the other bed, looked like he'd just managed to fight his way back into sleep. He'd kicked half the blankets off and the bottom sheet had slipped off the mattress and was twisted underneath him. Sharpay wondered if she could fix it without waking him up. It would be safer just to put the covers back on, she told herself.

"Hi." Kevin opened his eyes, smiling dreamily, as Sharpay bent to cover him.

"Shh, honey. Go back to sleep." Sharpay whispered. She would fix the bottom sheet, she decided, as long as he was awake. "Sit up a second for me. . ."

She helped him into a sitting position, hooking the edge of the sheet back over the mattress and pulling it straight. "That's better," she murmured, planting a kiss on Kevin's forehead and tucking the rest of the blankets around him. "Good night."

"Bye," he murmured, losing his grip on coherence and sliding back into whatever he'd been dreaming about.

"See you tomorrow." Sharpay closed the door and stepped back into the hallway.

---------------

Review again! You guys are awesome. In other news, our house has no water, and freaking day care is so expensive! So honestly, and I have to pay for people to take care of Mac so I can _pay_ to get yelled at and told I'm stupid (that's what med school is like). Anyway. Reviews would make it better.


	12. Chapter 11

**Title: Elsewhere**

**Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying.**

**-------------------**

**Chapter Eleven**

Three days later, Zac was sitting at Troy and Sharpay's kitchen table, a bowl of cereal in front of him. He poked at it with the tip of his spoon. He didn't feel hungry.

"Eat," Troy urged, absently patting the air around the top of Zac's head. "Eat!"

Everyone was a little distracted this morning. The visit with the boys' mother had been rescheduled as soon as possible, which turned out to be ten thirty-five on Thursday morning. It was a big deal; Kevin and Andy were skipping school (for the second time that week) and Troy had made all three of them take showers that morning. He'd made them take showers the night before, too.

"Are you nervous?" Andy, dressed only in a towel, had been trailing Troy around the house all morning, chattering away. "You seem nervous. I'm not nervous. I'm really not nervous at all. It's my mommy. I used to see her at home a lot, when I was at home, but I haven't seen her for a long time. Sometimes I have dreams about her. She was pretty. Do you think she'll come today? I'm sure there's some reason that she didn't come last time. I know that there was. I was thinking that maybe there was some kind of window into the room that let her see us, but we couldn't see her. Do you think that's what it was? Maybe that's what it was."

"Do you ever stop to take a breath?" Troy asked him, finally.

Andy considered this. "Before I went in the hospital, I couldn't breathe. Now I can breathe. So now I can take breaths. When I was in the hospital, there was this boy there. I told you about him. Allen? He was a butthead. He was really, really dumb. And mean. I only cried in the hospital once, and I had to get a bunch of shots. Sharpay said I was brave anyway. Even though I cried. Can I tell my mommy about Gallagher? Do you think she could see Gallagher? I think maybe she likes cats. Maybe she'd like Gallagher."

Kevin's nerves were frayed. He was sitting across from Zac at the table, his head buried in his arms. "Andy, hasn't anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" he wailed, finally.

Andy didn't skip a beat. "Yeah, people telled me that before. Troy, do you think my mommy will think I talk too much? I could try not to talk so much. I could be quiet..."

Troy ruffled Kevin's hair as he passed him, then turned to raise an eyebrow at Andy. "Why don't you draw your mommy a picture of Gallagher, to show her what he looks like?"

"That's a good idea!" Andy exclaimed. "Maybe I should draw her a bunch of pictures. One of Gallagher, and one of you, and one of Sharpay, and maybe one of us, too. I don't think she has a picture of us. And then I'll. . ."

"That's nice." Troy handed Andy a few pieces of paper and a pack of crayons. "Go draw."

"Okay." Andy climbed into a chair at the kitchen table and turned to his older brother. "It won't be so bad, Kev. You'll see."

"Yeah right," Troy heard Kevin murmur into the table. "It's going to be terrible."

-------------------------

The scene in the social worker's office was becoming all too familiar. Five minutes passed, and then ten minutes. It was a quarter to eleven. Ten to eleven. Five to eleven.

Kevin was sitting as rigidly as if someone had paid him not to move. He kept his eyes riveted on his hands. He'd gotten a paper cut on his index finger the other day. It still hurt when he pressed it. Kevin put as much pressure on it as he could. When his finger hurt, he didn't have to think about his mother. Because thinking about her hurt more.

Zac hadn't climbed out of Troy's lap since they'd arrived. He looked tired; it wasn't as if he'd expected his mother to come, anyway. "Let's just go, Troy. She's not here."

Troy looked down at Kevin after Zac said that, meeting his eyes. Kevin couldn't hide the tremendous pain that had welled up in the middle of his chest as soon as he heard his brother open his mouth. "She's not coming," Kevin agreed, sounding, for a moment, dangerously close to crying.

Troy put an arm around him. "She's not that late yet."

Andy was a bundle of nervous energy, darting in and out of the room so that he could peer down the hall to see if his mother had arrived yet. And for the past twenty minutes, everyone had been his mother.

"I think that's her!" he'd exclaim, causing everyone in the room to jump. Then he'd sigh, folding his arms dejectedly. "No it's not. It's some guy carrying a box." After twenty minutes, Andy did not seem discouraged. Troy watched him through the glass wall of the office. You had to admire that kind of faith.

Still, Troy thought, he wasn't going to put the kids through this again. The next time a visit was arranged, he wouldn't bring them down until their mother was actually there. She'd made them wait enough, Troy decided. They could make her wait twenty minutes. On a higher level of maturity, he didn't want to keep getting the boys' hopes up about something that was unlikely to happen. They were dealing with enough already. Making them show up for these visits was like taking them to be executed, over and over, and there was no way Troy was going to continue to let it happen.

While Troy was lost in thought, there came a moment when Andy's eyes grew as wide as saucers and his mouth dropped open. "Mommy?" Troy heard him whisper. Andy dashed back into the room "It's her! This time it's definitely her! I swear!" He was bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. "That's her, coming down the hall!"

Kevin swallowed hard and buried his head in his hands for a moment. Zac's eyes shifted warily from the door to Troy and back again. He wriggled off Troy's lap and stood in front of him, looking serious.

"Don't let her take me," he whispered.

"She won't," Troy promised. "It's just a visit."

"Don't let her," Zac cautioned him again. "I won't go with her."

It took a moment for Kathleen to appear in the doorway, but when she did it was almost without fanfare. She wasn't an especially arresting person by anyone's measure, small and frail, her thin frame enveloped in a sweater so baggy three or four of her could scarcely have filled it out. Her brown hair was shoulder length and stringy, lusterless bangs falling over a pair of red rimmed, dubious brown eyes. There were bruised looking purple half moons beneath them; she looked older than twenty-five.

Twenty five, Troy thought. God. . . she'd had Kevin when she was seventeen, Andy before she was twenty. She would have been twenty two when the boys' father walked out, twenty two with three kids under five. It was awe-inspiring.

Troy wondered about his presence in the room, if he was making the situation more uncomfortable for everyone. He wondered if he should leave, go down the hall and wait for awhile.

He didn't have much of a choice though. As soon as he'd seen his mother, Zac had jumped into Troy's lap and turned his face to the wall. Andy had fallen back, his excitement evaporating into stunned silence at actually seeing his mother for the first time. Kevin hadn't said anything. His jaw set tightly and his hands clenched so tightly together that his knuckles were white, he was watching his mother closely to see what she would do.

"Hello, Kathleen," Mary smiled. "We're glad to see you've made it. Why don't you have a seat?"

Kathleen sank into a chair. She didn't move after that, keeping her eyes trained on the floor and her hands folded in her lap. "This is Troy Bolton," Mary continued, cheerfully. "He and his wife have been taking care of the boys."

Troy smiled, wondering how he appeared to this woman. He knew she probably felt as if he were inching in on her territory, capturing her sons' affections with no regard for her feelings for them. Maybe he'd feel violated, Troy thought, if he were Kathleen. He really should leave. "Hi," he said, trying to appear unintimidating, relaxed. "They're really good kids."

"Oh." Kathleen retreated back into herself, silent.

"Mom?" Kevin ventured, feeling obligated to act, somehow, "Hi."

"Hi." She glanced over at him and nodded, turning away too quickly.

Kevin sighed, almost inaudibly. He didn't know if he'd expected her to change, but this was his mother, all right.

Andy was inching across the room at a snails pace. He stopped directly in front of his mother, about an arms length away. "Mommy," he whispered, "I drew you a picture."

"That's nice," Kathleen murmured, taking the piece of paper out of his hand and giving it a perfunctory glance.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Andy prompted, a hopeful expression in his eyes.

"What is it?" Kathleen told him. Her voice was low, expressionless.

"A cat," Andy told her, earnestly. "A big old cat named Gallagher."

"That's nice," Kathleen repeated, the tone of her voice scarely above a whisper. "I guess."

She's better than she usually is, Kevin thought. He decided to try to talk to her one more time. "How are you doing?"

Again, she scarcely acknowledged him. "Fine."

Troy met Mary's eyes. "I should go," he mouthed.

"Maybe that would be a good idea," Mary mouthed back. "I'll be leaving, and so will Troy," she announced. "This isn't a supervised visit." She walked over to the door, her high heels making a gentle brushing sound against the thick carpet. "We'll both be back soon."

Troy stood up, Zac still clinging to him with all his might. "I'm going to let you guys visit with your mommy now," he said. "Zac, I'm going to put you down."

Zac looked terrified, but knew better than to cry out. He knew what happened when you crossed his mother, if that lady in the chair actually was his mother. Instead he stuck his thumb in his mouth and clung to Kevin's wrist, a wary expression in his eyes. Troy glanced back at him a few times as he made his way down the hall, feeling guilty. He found a small waiting area, a few sticky tables flanked by vending machines and sat down, staring morosely past the sheen of oil that slicked the top of his scalding black coffee.

What could he have done, he asked himself. If he'd stayed, he would have complicated matters. It would have been wrong for him to stay.

But now that he'd made the decision to leave, Troy felt as if he'd deserted the boys all over again.

----------------

"Mommy, did I tell you I went to the hospital?" Andy was chattering away like there was no tomorrow. "And they stuck a big long needle in my arm?"

Kathleen grimaced, feeling shaky. "Please don't tell me that, Zac. It makes me feel sick."

Kevin scowled. "He's Andy."

"Right." Kathleen nodded, vacantly. "I mean him."

"Are you my mommy?" Zac asked, out of the blue.

Kathleen rolled her eyes. "Who else would I be?"

They were quiet for a moment. Andy's eyes were filling and his lower lip quivered.

"Why didn't you come?" he burst out.

"What do you mean?" Kathleen was exhausted, hazy. Nothing seemed to be sinking in.

"I missed you and I missed you," Andy wailed, "and I thought you might come, or you might call."

"Oh, God," Kathleen murmured. "Andy, I don't have the energy for this."

At least you got his name right, Kevin thought, dourly.

"Andy," Kathleen repeated, sounding faraway. "It was your father's idea to name you that, you know. Jordan Andrew." She frowned. "I wanted to name you Jason. But he didn't want to."

"Why didn't you name Zac Jason?" Andy piped, drying his eyes with the back of his shirt-sleeve. "Daddy couldn't have got mad at you. Daddy was gone by then."

"They named you at the social service office," Kathleen said. There was deadness in her voice. "I told them just to pick a name for you. It didn't matter much."

"Well, did you like it?" Andy persisted.

"It didn't matter if I liked it," Kathleen told him. "We called him that anyway."

"Oh." Andy smiled. "Oh, yeah."

"Mom?" Kevin tried to talk to his mother again. She must be so mad at him, he thought. She probably wanted to kill him. "Mom, I'm sorry about what I did. I'm sorry I got you in trouble."

Kathleen's eyes hardened for a moment, then softened. "You did what you had to do," she said. "I was the one who was wrong. I'm getting help now."

"Do you love us?" Andy asked, suddenly.

Kathleen looked taken aback. "Yes," she said. "I do."

"Because Allen says you don't. He said that real mommies don't leave."

Pain flashed in Kathleen's eyes. "I'm trying to get myself clean," she said, her voice stronger than it had been all day. "It's because of you three. You deserve a better mother than this."

"You're a good mother," Andy wailed, bursting into tears again.

"Please, Andy, don't do that," Kathleen told him again. "My nerves are completely shot."

The door opened. Mary was standing there, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, "but Kathleen, you only had until eleven thirty."

"Right," Kathleen murmured. She stood up.

--------------------

Troy heard the yelling from down the hall, and it was all he could do to keep himself from running toward the source. If she did anything to any of them, he thought, I'm going to kill her. I'm going to. . .

But as he approached the room, he could hear what Zac was saying. "I WANNA GO! DON'T LEAVE! DON'T LEAVE! WE'LL NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN!" Inside the office, Mary, Kevin and Andy were attempting to detach Zac from Kathleen's leg. He'd thrown his arms around her thigh and was hanging on for dear life, sobbing. "We'll never see you again. We'll never, never, never see you again. You won't come back. I wanna go with you! Take me with you, Mommy!"

"Zac, your mommy will be back to see you soon." Mary looked tired. "Go with Troy now, and you can visit with your mommy again later."

Meeting Kathleen's eyes apologetically, Troy knelt down so that he was level with Zac. "Listen to what Mary's saying, buddy. Your mommy's coming back." Inwardly, he was thinking, 'Five minutes ago you were terrified that your mother would take you. What's going through your mind now?'

Zac kept one arm wrapped around his mother's leg and stretched his other hand out to push Troy away. "She'll leave," he was sobbing. "She'll leave and we'll never see her again! I can't go with you. I can't!"

Kevin took this opportunity to peel Zac off of his mother's legs. The two of them struggled for a little while, Zac's arms and legs flailing as he tried to break free of his brother's grasp. Kathleen darted out the door, leaving while she still had a chance.

"Mommy!" Andy yelled. "Mommy, Mommy. . . Bye!" He waved frantically, but she didn't turn around and see him. His eyes grew watery again. He swallowed hard.

"Let me go!" Zac sunk his teeth into Kevin's arm. Kevin winced in pain but he kept his hold. "LET ME GO!"

"Don't do that, Zac." Troy lifted Zac into a chair and held him still. "Listen, buddy. Don't bite people, okay? Tetanus shots aren't fun for anyone, and people won't like us if we spread rabies."

Mary, the social worker, looked a bit concerned at that statement. "Maybe it would be best if. . ."

Suddenly, Zac wrapped his arms around Troy's neck. "She's always leaving! Why does she always have to go?"

Troy looked down. Kevin was contemplating the floor again, absently rubbing at the bright red tooth marks indented on his arm. Andy was kneeling backwards on his chair, biting his lip as he stared through the glass and into the hallway. Zac buried his face in Troy's shoulder, crying quietly now.

Troy shook his head. "She's not leaving, Zac. She'll come back soon."

Zac drew back, searching Troy's face. "Do you promise?"

Troy drew in a breath. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to say that he wasn't sure, either. "I promise."

"Mommy's coming back," Zac murmured into Troy's shoulder. "Mommy's coming back."


	13. Chapter 12

**Title: Elsewhere**

**Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys, especially when they're not yours and you don't know how long they're staying.**

**------------------**

The night was pitch black and moonless, a fierce wind howling around the sides of the house and pitching the bare tree branches back and forth against the sky. Andy had opened his eyes while the beam of light from the living room had still shone through the half open door, a sign that Troy and Sharpay were still up. Andy glanced over at Zac. He was definitely asleep. Kevin, however, was lying on his side, facing the wall. Andy wondered if he was up. He decided to go over and check.

The floorboards were cold beneath his bare feet, and Andy scampered up to the edge of Kevin's bed, peering over at his brother. "Kevin," he whispered, shaking Kevin's shoulder. "Are ya up?"

"Wha?" Kevin shot up, his eyes wild and disoriented. "What happened?" he demanded, breathing hard.

"Oops, sorry." Andy giggled nervously. "I guess you weren't up."

"Yeah," Kevin lay back down, rolling his eyes. "I guess I wasn't."

Andy perched on the edge of the bed, looking hopeful. "Can I sleep with you? Can I, please?"

Kevin sighed. He was about to protest, but thought the better of it. "Sure. Sleep next to the wall so you don't fall out." He moved over to make room.

"Thanks!" Andy whispered. "I never get to sleep with you anymore. Only with Zac."

"If Zac falls out of bed, he's gonna cry," Kevin informed Andy. "It'll be your fault if he falls out."

"He won't fall out," Andy told him. "He's right up next to the wall."

"Well, if he wakes up and wants to sleep in here, it's going to be really crowded tonight," Kevin went on.

"I'll make room," Andy assured him, yawning.

"You better," Kevin told him, "or I'm kicking one of you out."

"Kick Zac out," Andy suggested, charitably. "I got here first."

"Yeah, well I got here before either of you did, and I get to pick who has to go sleep in the other bed," Kevin protested. "And you kick."

Andy shook his head. "I do not kick."

"And you hog all the blankets," Kevin added, grinning.

Andy scowled. "I don't do it on purpose. You're lucky I'll sleep in the same bed as you, Kevin. I could just go sleep in the other bed and leave you all alone."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "The horror!" It was a phrase he'd picked up from Troy, and was now employing with some regularity.

"Yeah," Andy agreed, earnestly. "If you got scared, I'd be all the way across the room."

Kevin rolled his eyes and shifted onto his stomach. "Andy, I don't get scared."

Long after Andy had fallen asleep, Kevin lay awake. His brother was the worst person to share a bed with in the world. Not only did Andy change position frequently, he kicked, as well as murmured things under his breath, and he definitely hogged the blanket. Kevin sighed. It wasn't really Andy's fault. You weren't really aware of what you were doing while you were sleeping. Anyway, if Andy woke up and realized that he had the whole blanket and you were clutching onto a corner, he'd start pulling the blanket over to cover you back up again, shaking the whole bed and waking everybody up in the process. Kevin sighed again as Andy's bony elbow pressed against his ribcage. At least his brother's intentions were good.

-----------------

Zac woke up with a start. His ear hurt and his head hurt and he'd banged his knee on something. The floor. He was on the floor. First he'd been in the bed and now he was on the floor. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Where had Andy gone?

The nighttime was scary. There might be monsters in here. There were probably monsters under the bed. Zac's thumb went back into his mouth. The monsters under the bed wanted to eat him.

He had to get out of the room. The hallway was dark and shadowy. He didn't know where to go. Zac glanced behind him into the bedroom. He was sure he saw something black and slimy gliding across the floor.

Zac didn't waste any time after that. He ran, his bare feet slipping on the scratchy carpet so that he could scarcely keep his balance. He hit the ground right in front of Troy and Sharpay's door and scrambled to his feet again, certain that a monster was behind him.

He turned the doorknob and padded into the room, closing the door so that the monsters would stay out. Troy was snoring. His bony white feet poked out from beneath the covers, standing out brightly in the moonlight.

Zac put his hand on the edge of the bed and followed the curve of the mattress until he was standing right in front of Troy. Troy didn't wake up.

Tentatively, Zac stretched one hand over to Troy's shoulder and patted him several times. "Wake up," he whispered, frantically. "Troy! Daddy! Get up! WAKE UP DADDY!"

Startled, Troy jolted awake. "Zac?" he murmured. "What's the matter?" He struggled into a sitting position. "Are you okay?"

"Monsters!" Zac wailed. It was all he could manage.

Troy lifted Zac into the bed. "What monsters, buddy?"

"Troy? What's going. . ." Sharpay rubbed her eyes and smiled sleepily. "Hi, Zac. What are you doing in here?"

"Zac," Troy interjected. "Close your eyes for just a second, buddy. Shar, babe, we need to put on some clothes, for god's sake."

Once Sharpay tossed Troy some boxers and was in a fresh nightgown and back in bed, Zac stretched out his arms and let Sharpay help him into her lap. "There was monsters, and I fell out of bed, and Andy wasn't sleeping with me, and I was running down the hall. . ." he gasped. "And I fell down, and I came in here. . ."

"Shh. . ." Sharpay rubbed his back, smiling over at Troy. "You're shaking, baby. You must have been really scared."

"Really scared," Zac told her. He could feel himself calming down. "I was really, really, really scared. And my ear hurts."

"Your ear hurts?" Troy felt Zac's forehead. "Shar, does he feel warm to you?"

Sharpay felt Zac's forehead. "Yeah." She frowned. "Your ear hurts?"

Zac was worried they might kick him out of bed if he was sick. "I don't think I gots germs," he said. "So you don't have to worry that you'll catch it or anything."

"Honey. . ." Sharpay held Zac closer. "Don't worry about that."

"My ear hurts lots and lots of times," Zac said, "but Kevin and Andy never get it. So you probably won't get it."

"Buddy, we don't care if we get it," Troy said. "If you have an ear infection, though, the only thing that'll make it go away is antibiotics. Medicine."

"I never tooked medicine before." Zac looked dubious. "Not anabotics or nothing."

"They make ear infections go away faster," Sharpay said.

"Is it the kind of medicine you have to go to the doctor's and get it?" Zac asked.

Troy smiled. "Why go to the doctor's when you're sitting in one's lap?"

Zac looked up at Sharpay and smiled.

Five minutes later he was sitting on the counter in Troy and Sharpay's bathroom, while Sharpay peered into his ears with an auroscope. "Ow. . ." Zac gripped Troy's hand as the pressure built. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"

Sharpay winced. She felt terrible about hurting him. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know it hurts. It'll be over soon."

"Do I have a ear perfection?" Zac asked.

Troy guffawed. Sharpay held back a grin. "Yeah, honey, I think you do. I can't get you any medicine for it until early in the morning, though."

"That's okay." Zac lied. "It doesn't hurt so bad."

"Do you want to go back into your bed?" Troy asked.

"We'll give you some Children's Tylenol," Sharpay agreed, "and then we could tuck you in again." She sighed, wishing she had some antibiotic samples, which drug company representatives seemed to disperse so freely when you didn't need them, on hand.

Zac shook his head, terrified. "Don't make me go back into that room! I don't want to go back in there!"

"Okay. It's okay." Sharpay lifted him onto her hip. "You can sleep in here, if you want."

"Yeah," Zac murmured. "With you."

"I don't think we're supposed to get too attached," Troy whispered, "or let him get too attached."

"That room's all the way down the hall, Troy," Sharpay pointed out. "If he called, we'd never hear him."

Troy nodded. "Just this once, Zac. Tomorrow night, if you feel better, it would be better to sleep with Kevin and Andy."

"I will," Zac promised.

"Okay." Troy nodded. "If you get scared, wake us up."

"Troy! Troy, Troy, Daddy!" Zac whispered.

Troy opened his eyes. The bedside clock read 4:02. "What's the matter, Zac?"

Zac sighed. "I can't go to sleep. My ear hurts too much."

"Okay," Troy whispered. "Do you want to go down and watch TV?"

"In the middle of the night?" Zac asked.

"It's what I do when I can't sleep," Troy told him.

"Okay." Zac agreed. "Let's go downstairs."

"We have to be really quiet though," Troy cautioned him, "because Sharpay has to get up early for work tomorrow."

"Okay." Zac was silent as Troy lifted him out of bed and tiptoed out of the room.

"We're going to get the blanket from your bed, okay?" Troy asked. "So you won't be cold."

"Okay," Zac whispered. He tightened his grip on Troy's neck as they entered the darkened bedroom. "Monsters," he thought.

Luckily, there weren't any. Andy and Kevin were in the other bed, fast asleep, with Andy hogging most of the blanket. Troy lifted the comforter from the empty bed and he tiptoed down the stairs. When a floorboard creaked, both he and Zac grimaced.

"Shh. . ." Zac whispered. "You were the one who said be quiet."

"I was," Troy agreed. "Sorry."

Zac nodded. "It's okay."

Troy grinned. "Thank you for being so understanding." He felt Zac's fingernails dig into his skin as they stepped into the undiluted blackness of the living room.

"Something could be hiding in here," Zac whispered. "And then it'll jump out and kill us."

"No it won't," Troy assured him. "There's nothing in here."

"Maybe they're being quiet," Zac proposed.

"Nah." Troy shook his head. "Monsters could never be that quiet."

He set Zac down on the couch and fumbled around for the TV remote control. It was on top of the TV, exactly where it was supposed to be, though of course that was the last place Troy checked. "Do you have anything in particular you want to watch?" he asked Zac, stretching out next to him on the couch.

Zac looked over at him. "Do you?"

"Hey, at four AM, it does not make much of a difference to me," Troy observed.

Zac shook his head. "Me either."

Searching for worthwhile entertainment at this hour of the morning was futile. There were scores of infomercials, old TV repeats, sappy commercials backed by tinny Christmas carols. Some guy was hacking people to bits with a buzz saw on Channel 346. On MTV, scantily clad young girls gyrated around a middle-aged man dressed in shiny black sateen and weighted down by gold chains.

Finally, Troy settled on ESPN Classic, showing an old Knicks' game from sometime during the 2015 season. With the boys in the house most of the day, he hadn't gotten to watch the eight to ten basketball games a week he was used to watching.

The two of them sat through fifteen minutes of the back-and-forth offensive pyrotechnics of professional basketball before Zac, who had inched on to Troy's stomach and was resting his head on his chest, sat up suddenly.

"Dad…I mean Troy is that you?" Zac asked, as the sportscaster announced, "Bolton checks back in for the Knicks, hoping to put a little defense on the red-hot Spurs."

"Huh, I guess it is."

"Well how can you be sitting here and also be running around _in there_?" Zac asked wide-eyed as he pointed to the television.

"It's an old game. Taped before you were even born." _And there aren't actually people in the tv,_ he added in his head.

"And how come you don't 'member being on TV? I would tells everybody about going in the TV if I did it."

"I used to be in the NBA. I played almost 500 games that were on TV, so I can't remember them all," Troy explained.

"500. That's lots more than forty-eleven. Or sixty-ninety-three, even. How come you're nots in the BNA any more?"

"Cause I got hurt."

"But Sharpay tooked care of you, right?"

"Yeah, Sharpay tooked care of me."

By the time the sky had lightened to a dull gray, washing the walls in dim early morning light, Troy and Zac had both fallen asleep, the TV blaring "6:00 with Terrance Lewis," a sort of early-early show, featuring a bouncy, low rent version of Richard Simmons. Terrance Lewis, dressed in a tight black unitard and high cropped, tight white shirt, his permed black hair held back with a head band, bounced across the TV screen to a scratchy, pop-sampled soundtrack. He waved his arms around, shaking his head back and forth. Apparently ESPN also aired repeats of bizarre ninety's jazzercise shows.

"C'mon people!" Terrance squeaked. "It's time to get up and do some dancin!"

Troy yawned and opened his eyes. Zac was still lying on his stomach, fast asleep, and Troy didn't want to wake him. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on going back to sleep. Today was going to be a long day.

It suddenly occurred to Troy that a month ago he never could have seen himself in this situation. It was only a few weeks ago he'd handed out Halloween candy to little kids dressed as dragons and witches, Wonder Woman and Mickey Mouse, thinking to himself all the while that if he and Sharpay got a baby this year or next, it would be three or four years before he'd be taking someone trick or treating. He'd never imagined having such close contact with a little kid. . . any little kid. . . for quite awhile. These past few weeks had been entirely out of the blue.

And yet, he knew they'd have to end. These kids weren't his kids. Their mother would rehabilitate herself, and they'd go back to live with her. Troy wondered if he should have held back, keeping himself from forming such a tight bond with the boys. He didn't want to compete with their mother. He didn't want to make the inevitable separation harder on everyone. Maybe it was wrong to allow someone to trust you, and then cast them back out into the world again, as if they didn't mean anything to you, as if they never had.

That wasn't the message Troy wanted to send. He wished there was some way he and Sharpay could hand the boys over to their mother without completely disinvolving themselves, at least until Kathleen was strong enough to provide more emotional support. It would definitely be hard for her at first. Maybe she would appreciate it if Troy and Sharpay took the boys for the day every now and then, maybe for a weekend.

Troy sighed. He wouldn't let himself think about it. When the time came, he would do what he had to do, but for now it was just him and Zac, lying on the couch. There was, however, the small matter of Zac calling him 'Daddy'…

Troy closed his eyes. Maybe he could get a few more minutes of sleep. . .

"Troy?" Andy whispered. "Troy, are ya up?"

"Mmh?" Troy murmured. "Wha?" He glanced at his watch. It was 6:15.

"I was looking for Zac," Andy explained. He grinned at the TV screen. "I love this guy! Sometimes I get up early, and I see him on TV."

"Shh. Don't wake up Zac," Troy whispered.

"Okay," Andy agreed. He smiled again at Terrance Lewis. "Time to wake up and get energized!" he parroted. "Start yer day the Terrance way!"

Zac's eyelids flickered open. "Not this guy!" he groaned. "I hate this guy! Turn him off!"

Troy smiled to himself. Another day had begun.

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AN: Troy is becoming such an imaginary replacement for Mac's father I can hardly stand it. If only all men took to parenting as well as Troy seems to. Alas…it cannot be so…

Leave a review, tell me what you think!

margaret


	14. Chapter 13

**Title: Elsewhere**

**Summary: It's an emotional rollercoaster, taking care of three little boys. Especially when they're not yours, and you don't know how long they're staying.**

**---------------------**

**Chapter Thirteen**

A lot of strange things had been happening to Zac.

Yesterday, Troy and Sharpay had taken everybody out in the car and they'd driven off to a big parking lot with a bunch of trees growing out of it. They'd run around, asking "Which one do you like better?" even though they all looked the same. And then they'd found one they liked, tied it to the roof of the car, and taken it home with them. Troy had strung lights on it. . . Zac didn't know why. He didn't think Troy liked the lights very much. He didn't seem very happy after he'd finished.

Maybe that was because not all of the lights on the tree seemed to be working. Only some of them on the bottom and the top were, while the lights in the middle stayed just as dark as they'd been before Troy had plugged them in. Troy had to take them all off and start over. Before he'd taken them off, he'd said something very bad. Zac wasn't even supposed to say it, it was so bad. Troy had told Zac to pretend he'd never even heard it, it was so bad. Zac had heard it before, though. His mother said it a lot. But he decided to pretend he'd never heard it, anyway.

Tomorrow, Sharpay said, they were going to put ornaments on the tree. Zac didn't know what ornaments were. He thought maybe Sharpay meant oranges. Maybe the tree was an orange tree? Maybe oranges grew on it?

That didn't make any sense, Zac decided. You didn't have to put oranges on a tree that was already going to grow some of it's own. Maybe they needed to put oranges on the tree so the tree could remember what kind of tree it was? So that it knew what oranges looked like so it would know what kind of fruit to grow?

Kevin said the tree wasn't going to grow anymore, though. Kevin said that someone had cut the tree down. When someone cut a tree down, it didn't grow. "What are they going to do with it?" Zac had asked.

"Maybe they're going to chop it up for firewood," Andy suggested.

"So the heating bill won't be so high." Kevin had agreed. "But I think you decorate it first. And then maybe you burn it." He was hazy about what one did with Christmas trees after Christmas was over.

"With the decorations still on it?" Andy asked.

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know."

Zac wondered when Troy and Sharpay would burn the Christmas tree. Maybe that was what Christmas trees were for? You covered them with lights and oranges, then moved them outside, stuck them in the yard, and set them on fire. That way Santa Claus could find your house. Maybe that was why Santa Claus had never come before, Zac thought. They didn't have a yard to burn their tree in.

The people across the street didn't have a Christmas tree in their yard, though. Instead, they had life-sized plastic statutes of carolers in their yard, massive figures of lightweight plastic that were lit from within by high powered light bulbs. The four of them stood, a mother, father, little boy and little girl, their mouths open in song and their eyes raised toward heaven, amid a sea of electric outdoor candles and Christmas lights, while Silent Night played dimly in the background.

Zac was terrified of them. They were worse than burning Christmas trees.

He stared out the living room window with his hands pressed against the glass, his eyes wide and his mouth open. A recent rise in temperature had brought with it a heavy rainstorm, turning the snow into an icy slush and speckling the windows with drops of water. Every beam of light outside was reflected and multiplied, surrounding the plastic carolers in a shimmering orb of green, red and yellow. Zac swallowed. He thought he saw the father move.

"They're going to come and get us in the night," he said aloud. "No one will be left alive."

"Um." Kevin, kneeling next the coffee table, lifted a crayon out of the cookie tin that lay on top of yesterday's newspaper and started in on the sheet of vanilla colored paper that lay in front of him. He had to draw that holiday picture, as much as he didn't want to.

"Troy will have to hit them with a baseball bat," Zac intoned. "He'll have to crack their heads open."

"Yep." Kevin, conscious of nothing except the fact that he couldn't find the forest green crayon, and there was no way he was coloring his Christmas tree in yellow green, rummaged through the cookie tin. "Come on, where are you?"

"Maybe they'll get you first," Zac threatened. "Because you're bigger than me."

"Um. That's nice." Kevin sighed hugely, frustrated. He was going to write the Crayola company, and they were going to hear about this! "Go away, okay? And quit talking. I'm trying to concentrate. This is homework, and it's really important. Maybe Andy will play with you."

Zac shook his head. "Andy's fishie-ing."

"He doesn't have any fishes." Kevin had just about given up when his eyes lit upon a solitary crayon on the floor next to the couch. He snickered. "You thought you could get away. . ."

"I telled him there was no fishies," Zac said. "He said there were."

"Well, then. . ." Kevin considered this for a moment. "Maybe you should go tell him that there aren't." He paused. "Zac, what do you think I should draw for my holiday picture?"

Zac thought for a moment. "Do the burning Christmas trees," he suggested.

Kevin's eyes grew wide. "Great idea!" he exclaimed. "That's the best idea I ever heard!"

"Or you could draw Troy killing the people across the street with the baseball bat," Zac suggested. "The carolalers."

"Hmm. . ." Kevin contemplated the picture he would draw. "Maybe I could do them both?"

"Hey, guess what!" Without warning, Andy rushed into the room, trailing a cardboard paper towel tube behind him. A string was attached to the end of it, and the string dragged on the floor. "I caught a great big fish, and we're having it for dinner."

Kevin and Zac exchanged a look of disbelief. "No you didn't," Zac decided.

"No you didn't," Kevin agreed.

Andy looked taken aback, but only for a few seconds. "I did too!" he insisted." We're having it for dinner. Come and see!"

Zac glanced at Kevin, to see what his oldest brother was going to do. Surprisingly, Kevin shrugged, stood up, and followed Andy into the kitchen. Shooting a backward glance at the carolers, as blurry as a watercolor painting outside the rain-streaked window, Zac hurried to catch up with them.

"We're having spaghetti," Kevin was telling Andy.

"It's just my fish PRETENDING to be paskettis," Andy explained.

"Oh, that must be why." Kevin rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, that must be why." Zac was satisfied. On tiptoe, he peered up at the bowl of spaghetti that was sitting on the countertop. "Your fishie is good at p'tending to be isketti."

"Not isketti." Andy giggled. "Paskettis."

"Iskettis," Zac repeated.

"Paskettis, paskettis, paskettis," Andy sang to himself. "Oh I do like paskettis. In the morning, in the sunshine, in the rain. . ."

Kevin shook his head, sighing. "I'm going to go draw some more," he decided, aloud, starting back toward the living room.

"Paskettis in the night, paskettis in the wintertime, paskettis in the summertime," Andy went on. "Paskettis that look like worms, and paskettis that look like fishes. . ."

Andy's pasketti song pleased him very much. In fact, he continued to add verses for the next fifteen minutes, long after Zac had wandered off to stare at the carolers again and Sharpay came by to tell him it was time for dinner. Andy slipped his hand into hers.

"Do you like paskettis, Sharpay?"

Sharpay nodded. "Mmmhmm. Do you?"

Andy looked up at her. "Actually, I like garlic bread better. . ."

"Then what was that song you were singing before?" Sharpay inquired, puzzled.

"I was pretending I was doing a pasketti commercial," Andy explained, seriously.

Sharpay nodded again, trying to hide her smile. "I see."

"Yeah, me too." Andy agreed, happily. "When is Christmas?"

Sharpay bit her lip. "Actually, we were going to have a talk about that. . ."

"This morning we got a call from Mary," Troy said. He looked up. Three little faces were locked on his, waiting apprehensively for what he would say next. "She's been talking to your mother."

Andy's face lit up. "Is she coming?"

Sharpay sucked in her breath through clenched teeth. "Um, well, that was what she wanted to talk to us about. . ."

"She didn't do anything. . . stupid?" Kevin whispered. He knew his mother. In fact, if he wasn't there to keep an eye on her, he didn't know what she'd end up doing.

"No." Troy shook his head. "In fact, she's doing pretty well."

"She's been working really hard these past few weeks," Sharpay agreed. "I think she's a lot better, Kev."

Kevin's eyes darkened and he looked away. He didn't know if he believed that or not. His mother must have gotten Mary to lie to Sharpay for her. His mother could do that, he knew.

"So is she coming?" Even seated on two telephone books, Andy could hardly reach the table. He bounced on his knees, impatient.

" Actually. . ." Troy shot an uncomfortable glance at Sharpay, "how would you feel about going to see her?"

"Going to see her?" Kevin asked.

"To spend Christmas with her," Sharpay clarified. "She's moving from a drug. . . I mean, a treatment center. . . to a halfway house in a few days. A halfway house is a place where she can live while she finds a job and gets things back together for herself."

"They let people's kids come and stay with them for a few days around Christmas, if they want to," Troy said.

"What if you don't want to?" Kevin asked.

"I think your mother really wants you to be there," Sharpay said. "All three of you."

"I want to go and see her!" Andy volunteered.

Zac tugged on Kevin's shirt. "What are they talking about?"

"Do you want to go stay with Mom for a couple of days?" Kevin asked him. "For Christmas?"

"Is she going to stay there the whole time and not go away?" Zac asked.

"How do they know they can trust her?" Kevin asked. His little brother had a point.

Sharpay felt helpless. She was wondering that herself. "I think a lot of people have been giving her support," she said. "There are people there who want to help her learn to take care of herself, so she can take care of you guys, too. That's why your mommy's there. . . she wants to try to do that."

"I think she should be able to try," Andy agreed.

"I don't," Kevin muttered, but he said it so quietly that no one heard him.

-------------------------

"So what do you think about that idea?" Troy asked. He was sitting on top of the closed toilet seat, flipping through an old issue of _Sports Illustrated_, while Andy and Zac took a bath. He'd left them unattended in the tub a few times, back in the beginning, figuring that anyone over the age of three was old enough to keep his head above water and get himself clean, but this habit had landed him a sound scolding from Sharpay, the reigning monarch of the emergency room.

"It takes only three inches of water for a little kid to drown. What if one of them slipped, Troy? And do you know how many other dangerous things there are in a bathroom? Razor blades? The medicine cabinet? The laundry hamper?"

"The laundry hamper?" Troy had asked, incredulously.

"One of them could fall in and suffocate!" Sharpay exclaimed. "You can't leave them alone in the bath tub, Troy. It's asking for trouble." She shook her head.

Troy wondered if anyone, in the whole history of time, had ever fallen into a wicker laundry hamper and suffocated, then thought the better of asking. For all he knew, maybe it was possible. He thought of Andy and Zac and decided he didn't want to find out.

"I just don't want them to think back on this ten years from now and decide that I was. . . a pedophile, or something." Troy faltered.

Sharpay's eyes met his. "Troy. Anyone in his right mind sits with little kids while they take a bath. You can't trust them alone. They'll probably get into some kind of trouble."

Troy had to admit that that was true. He hadn't told Sharpay, but two nights ago Andy and Zac had flooded the entire bathroom floor, sending water spilling out into the hall and soaking everything from the bottom of the laundry hamper to an entire wastebasket full of garbage. This wasn't really either of their faults. . . they just didn't know how to turn the water off. In fact, Andy admitted he'd been wondering if maybe the bathroom was "pretending to be a swimming pool." From that day on, Troy had watched those two in the bathroom as if they might go down the drain. Which, come to think of it, was another thing Zac was scared of.

"What idea?" Andy asked, his mind as full of bubbles as the bathwater.

"Going to visit your mommy for Christmas," Troy said, shaking his head. (What other idea was there?)

"Oh!" Andy nodded. "Oh. . . that idea!"

"Yeah, that one," Troy agreed. "What do you think of it?"

"I want to do it," Andy said. "I want to see her."

"How about you Zac?" Troy asked.

Zac put the corner of the washcloth in his mouth and regarded Troy dubiously. He didn't say anything.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Troy prodded.

Zac slid around until he faced the wall.

"He's thinking about it," Andy explained.

"Are you thinking about it, Zac?" Troy asked.

Zac didn't turn around. "Yes," he squeaked.

"And have you decided anything yet?" Troy prodded.

Zac didn't answer.

"What does Kevin think about the whole thing?" Troy asked Andy.

"He doesn't want me to say," Andy said, dabbing a fistful of bubbles onto his head.

"Why is that?" Troy asked.

"Because," Andy sang. "Because because because!" He smiled. "He didn't telled me anything yet."

"Oh." Troy nodded. "That's why, then."

"But he doesn't want to!" Andy piped. "I can tell he doesn't want to!"

"How do you know that?" Troy asked.

"Because." Andy leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "She makes him worried."

Troy swallowed. "Do you think he'll go?"

Andy's smile was hard to read. "If I do."

------------------

"Sharpay?" Kevin stood in the doorway of the living room, peering around the frame. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, sweetie." Sharpay looked up from the paper and gestured to the spot on the couch next to her. "Sit down."

Kevin crept over, his bare feet noiseless on the hardwood floor. "It's about that thing with my mother."

Sharpay nodded. "What are you worried about?"

"I'm worried that. . ." Kevin started, then began again. "I'm worried that maybe. . . I mean, actually, I just wanted to ask you. . ." he took a deep breath. "I just wanted to ask you if maybe. . ."

"If maybe," Sharpay prompted, gently.

"If maybe if I didn't want to go I could stay here," Kevin burst out, so rapidly that the syllables all mixed together and Sharpay had to take a second to sort out what he'd said. It was a second in which Kevin's breath caught in his throat and he stared up at her, terrified. He'd asked. What was going to happen now?

"You wouldn't have to get me any presents or anything," he said. "I mean, it's not that. . ."

"Honey. . ." Sharpay put an arm around him, taking a deep breath. "Honey, if you wanted to stay, we'd love to have you." She didn't want to get his hopes up, because the odds that he would be able to stay were so slim. Still, she didn't want to out and out reject him, either. "I just don't know if that would be possible."

"She wants us to go," Kevin said, quietly.

"I think she really does," Sharpay said. "And I think she feels guilty about you, especially. She wants to make it up to you, Kevin."

He swallowed hard. His voice was tiny, unsteady. "Oh."

"Believe me, sweetie, we'd love to have all three of you stay, and we even offered to invite your mother up here so she could spend Christmas with you guys outside the halfway house. But I guess it works out better for her to have you guys come to stay with her there. It'll just be three days. You can call us, if you want."

Kevin nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. "Okay."

"If you really, really, really don't want to go, you can talk to Mary about it," Sharpay said. "Maybe you can work something out with her. Still, I don't feel that. . . Kevin, I don't want to offend your mother by giving you permission to stay here. She might not understand why you don't want to. That's why I think it would be better to talk to Mary. She and your mother have more of an understanding. . ."

The words slipped by Kevin and he gave up trying to listen. He just nodded. Emotions swirled inside of him, and he didn't want to cry.

"Kevin," Sharpay said, looking into his eyes, "if you get there, and it's really bad. . . if there's any reason you don't feel safe staying there or you feel uncomfortable staying there, or whatever, call us. I swear to God, any time of the day or night Troy or I would get into the car and pick you guys up. It wouldn't be a problem."

Kevin thought about this for a moment. "I couldn't do that . . ." he started.

"You could," Sharpay said. "I hope you would, if you needed to."

"Um." Kevin bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't know what to say.

Sharpay thought for a moment, trying to find words that expressed all she wanted to tell him. "Kev, do you understand why I can't tell you that you don't have to go? It isn't because we wouldn't want you to stay."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. I know that." He was quiet for a moment. "Sharpay?"

"Uh huh?"

"If you're trying to draw a picture. . ."

"Uh huh?"

"And it's supposed to be of a holiday. . ."

"Uh huh?"

"A holiday that your family celebrates. . ."

"Yeah. . ."

"And you can't think of any. . ." Kevin sighed.

"What were you going to say?" Sharpay asked.

"Is it okay if you just take a holiday your family never celebrated, and you draw that?" Kevin drew in an uncertain breath, hoping for approval.

Sharpay hugged him, nodding. "If that's what you want to do. . ."

"Actually, I asked Troy what I should draw," Kevin explained. "Back when I couldn't think of anything to draw and was drawing stupid Santa Clauses."

"And what did he tell you to do?" Sharpay asked.

"He said to draw whatever made me happy." Kevin told her.

Sharpay raised an eyebrow. "Is your teacher going to like it?" she inquired, smiling.

Kevin shook his head. "No."

"So. . . what are you going to tell her?" Sharpay asked him.

Kevin thought for a moment. "That it made me happy," he grinned.

Sharpay nodded. "I hope it works."

"If she makes me do it over," Kevin decided, "I'll just copy off the front of a Christmas card."

Sharpay hugged him again. "If she doesn't like it, give it to me and I'll frame it."

"You will?" Kevin was shocked. No one had ever even stuck anything he'd done on the refrigerator, let alone framed it. "I don't draw that good."

"I'm sure you do," Sharpay contested. "Anyway, what's important to me is that you did it. In fact, maybe I can have it when the teacher's done with it? Because she'll probably like it."

Kevin swallowed. "I don't know why you'd want to, but you can."

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AN: Thanks for reading, everyone! Leave a review!

margaret


	15. Chapter 14

**Title: Elsewhere**

**AN: Sorry it's been practically a decade since I've updated. Being 25 got in the way. I have a shit ton going on, as you might imagine, coupled with a hilarious drunk dial from Alex that was basically "So how's our kiiiiiddddddd" to which my response was "Fuck you I hate you more than anyone else in the universe. Good talk, see you out there." Anyway.**

**------------------**

**Chapter Fifteen**

It was the last week of school before winter break. Every window was decorated with snowflakes and paper snowmen and the janitor had taken to coming to work in a Santa Claus hat. Downstairs in the kindergarten, Andy couldn't concentrate because he was thinking about Santa Claus, who existed, he'd decided, in spite of what Kevin had said. Plus, he'd asked Troy if he believed in Santa Claus, and Troy had said yes. Sharpay had said she believed in Santa Claus, too. And when Andy wandered off to pay a visit to Mr. Martinez during recess the other day, Mr. Martinez had said that he believed in Santa Claus before sending Andy back to the playground. Everyone knew that principals never lied. All Andy could think about was staying up on Christmas Eve to see Santa Claus fly through the air. Even if he didn't get any presents or anything, there was always the chance he might see him, and that would be enough.

Upstairs, in the second grade, Kevin couldn't concentrate because he was thinking about his mother. The only two surefire ways of getting out of going to the halfway house, or at least, the only two surefire plans that he could definitely carry out, were neither appealing, nor would they come without consequences. He'd considered doing something terrible. . . stealing something from a store or attacking someone or setting a fire, something so horrible they'd have to send him to juvenile hall right away. He'd disbanded that idea pretty quickly; not only was Kevin unsure of whether or not he could actually force himself to commit random acts of violence, he knew that juvenile hall would be the worst place he could get himself sent. Andy and Zac wouldn't have anybody with them. They'd see what he'd done, and maybe do bad things themselves. Kevin felt guilty for even considering the idea.

The only other thing he could think of to do was to pretend to be sick on the twenty-fourth. Then, they'd probably have to leave without him. Then. . .

No, Kevin decided. For one thing, he'd be abandoning his brothers. Everything they'd been through before, they'd been through together. It was better that way. Anyway, even if he got sick for real, he couldn't stay with Troy and Sharpay. They had been taking care of three kids who weren't theirs for just about a month now, and they deserved a break, Kevin reasoned. They probably had plans, anyway, and he didn't want to be the one who screwed them up.

Even somewhat resigned to the fact that going to stay with his mother was something he wouldn't be able to get out of, Kevin wasn't able to get his mind off of it. He couldn't concentrate on anything else, especially not school. In spite of his resolutions to apply himself and try harder, Kevin found himself staring out the window more and more, doodling in the margins of his notebook and handing assignments half completed. Mrs. Schafly noticed this, and she wasn't happy.

It was Tuesday night. Three more days of school were left before winter break. Troy was standing in the kitchen, coloring in thumbnail sketches with one hand and eating a Christmas cookie with the other. Sharpay, who was working the late shift that night, had enlisted the boys' help and made a few batches of them that afternoon. She'd taken a plate of nice, carefully decorated ones to the emergency room with her, but the rest. . .

Troy smiled. Two out of her three assistants had produced only three edible looking cookies between them, and those they'd eaten on the spot. The rest of their creations lay on the plate in front of him, many broken in two, some slathered with so much icing they looked horrifically deformed, others pockmarked with little holes from being stabbed multiple times by a three year old armed with a tube of icing. They all tasted pretty good, but you wouldn't believe that to look at them.

"Maybe you shouldn't let them do that anymore," Kevin had suggested nervously, looking at the icing smeared counter and his two giggling little brothers. "I don't think they're any good at it."

Sharpay smiled. "They're having fun," she said. "Don't worry."

"They're wasting a lot of icing," Kevin pointed out.

Sharpay laughed. "Some of it is ending up on the cookies."

"Yeah, but not very much." Kevin carefully applied a chocolate smile and two chocolate eyes to the snowman he was making.

"We do it fasterer than you do!" Andy exclaimed, his mouthful of cookie. "It takes you a million hours to do one cookie."

"Yeah." Kevin shrugged. "So?"

"So. . ." Andy reflected for a moment. "We're betterer at it, cause we makes more cookies the fasterest."

"Yeah, but mine are nicer," Kevin pointed out. "They're carefuller than yours." That was true, too. It took Kevin an hour to complete six cookies, but he did his meticulously, taking care not to smudge any icing or break them in half. Kevin never let his guard down for a minute, Sharpay noted. He didn't want to risk facing the consequences of messing up.

Troy lifted a decapitated Santa Claus off the plate and chewed on him thoughtfully, mentally comparing the scarlet and crimson colored pencils. Scarlet, he decided, then found himself reaching for crimson. Crimson? Plain old red, maybe?

That was when the phone rang. Troy picked up the receiver and tried to talk around the cookie crumbs in his mouth. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Meryl Schafly," a woman's voice said. "I'm Kevin's teacher."

"Oh, right!" Troy swallowed hard and straightened up, as if Mrs. Schafly herself had just strolled through the kitchen door. "I'm Troy Bolton."

"Kevin's foster father," Mrs. Schafly said, and it wasn't a question. Troy nodded.

"Right." You wanna make something out of it? he added, mentally, and grinned.

"I'm calling to request that you and I schedule a parent teacher conference for sometime within the next few days," Mrs. Schafly said. "I feel Kevin is having certain. . . issues. . . at school that need to be dealt with shortly."

This was news to Troy. "What kind of issues?" he asked, blurting "Is he beating people up?"

He thought he heard Mrs. Schafly chuckle. "No. . ." she said, slowly. "We have not had problems with Kevin. . . behaving inappropriately. . . toward other students."

"Okay." Troy nodded again, even though she couldn't see him. "That's good."

"Yes, that is good," There was no way Mrs. Scafly could disagree with that.

"Can I ask what he does, though?" Troy asked.

"Mostly nothing," Mrs. Schafly said.

"Oh, is this just the standard time of the year for parent teacher conferences?" Troy asked, relieved.

"No, I mean he literally does nothing," Mrs. Schafly said. "No work, he does not pay attention. He does nothing."

"Nothing?" Troy repeated, wondering how someone could do nothing for seven hours every day.

"Sometimes he hides books under the desk and reads them during class," Mrs. Schafly admitted.

"So he does. . . something. . . then," Troy said.

"You could call it that," Mrs. Schafly agreed.

Troy nodded. "When should I come in?"

"Kev?" Troy set the receiver back into the cradle just as Kevin was coming down the hallway. "That was your teacher on the phone."

Kevin groaned. "Oh, no. . ."

Troy smiled wryly. "She wants to have a conference."

Kevin looked scared. "You told her no, right?"

"Kevin!" Troy was incredulous. "Why would I do that?"

"I think she hates me," Kevin warned him. "She'll probably tell you lies."

"Kevin. . ." Troy shook his head. "All she said was that it seemed like you were having trouble concentrating in school, and she wanted to talk about what was going on. She said she tried to talk to you, but she doesn't think it helped."

"Did she say I was allowing outside forces to keep me from reaching my full potential?" Kevin asked.

Troy raised his eyebrows. "She said that to you, too?"

"She told you you weren't reaching your full potential, either?" Kevin's eyes grew wide. Mrs. Schafly said that to everybody? Did she go running up to strangers in the supermarket and accuse them of not achieving their full potential?

Troy shook his head. "No, she said that you weren't."

"I don't care about my full potential." Kevin set his jaw and scuffed at the linoleum floor with the toe of his sneaker. "I don't think I even have any potential. I don't even know what potential is. It sounds like something you have to take medicine for."

Troy grinned. "You do have potential, Kev. Everybody does. You probably have more potential than most people."

"Great," Kevin sighed. "Just what I need. Potential."

"It isn't a bad thing." Troy thought for a moment, wondering how to explain this. "Potential is. . . like. . . what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Kevin sighed again. "I really haven't thought that far ahead."

"Come on. . . you must have some idea," Troy said.

Kevin's expression was guarded. He did know what he wanted to do. He didn't know if he wanted to tell Troy. "I want to. . ." he began.

"What do you want to do?" Troy prompted.

Kevin looked up at him. "I want to write things," he said, quickly. He waited for the aftermath. Troy would probably laugh at him.

"That's a good idea," Troy said, nodding. "I bet you'd be good at writing."

"I don't know." Kevin swallowed. "I just like to do it. I'm not any good."

"Don't sell yourself short." Troy shook his head. "I'd love to read anything you wrote."

"You can't!" Kevin exclaimed, more sharply than he meant to. "I mean. . . I don't show them to anybody," he explained, apologetically. "Because of what happened with.. . I mean, because of a reason. Because I don't want to."

Troy nodded. "Yeah, it's hard to show people things like that. Writing is kind of personal."

"Yeah," Kevin nodded. "It's personal." He paused for a moment. "If I ever write anything I want to show anybody, you can see it."

"Thanks." Troy was genuinely touched. "I'd appreciate that."

Kevin met his eyes. "But maybe only you could see it. Because I don't like it when a lot of people look at it."

"I'd be really careful with it," Troy promised. "Really careful."

The two of them were quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally, Troy spoke. "What were we talking about, anyway?"

Kevin flushed. "Umidontknowmaybenothinginparticular," he whispered.

"What?" Troy asked.

Kevin took a deep breath. He could lie to everyone else in the entire world, but he couldn't lie to Troy and Sharpay, for some reason. "My teacher called," he said, inwardly kicking himself. Now, Troy was going to yell at him. Now he was going to get in trouble.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Troy agreed, nodding vaguely. "I mean after that."

"Oh." Kevin thought for a moment. "Potential. You asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up."

"That's right," Troy nodded. "I was going to say that you have the potential to become pretty much whatever you want, Kev. Potential isn't a bad thing. In fact, Mrs. Schafly just wants you to use what you have. . . she wants to try to help you."

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know. . . she keeps telling me I'm driving her crazy."

"Are you?" Troy asked, interested.

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know. She's been teaching second grade for fifteen years. I guess no one ever must have driven her crazy before."

"It would be quite an achievement," Troy remarked, dryly.

That was when they heard the hellish, other-worldly screeching and the tremendous crash.

"Okay, now you stay there and don't move." A long, long time ago, Troy had come in and told Andy and Zac they had five minutes before they had to go to bed. Then Troy went into the kitchen and started drawing. Then the phone rang, and Troy had talked on the phone, and then he'd started talking to Kevin. These were the longest five minutes Andy had ever spent in his life, and he was bored. And so, while Troy and Kevin were in the kitchen, he decided to find something to do.

Zac had been sitting out the couch with a drawing tablet on his knees, scribbling with crayons. He was drawing a jungle. Little men were hiding in the bushes. There were monkeys in the trees. He was concentrating so hard that he didn't notice Andy had climbed onto the couch next to him until his brother leaned over and scrutinised the picture he was drawing.

"Andy, go away!" Zac wailed.

Andy didn't go away. "That's a pretty good picture," he said. "What is it?"

Zac picked up the tablet and hid the front of it against his stomach. "You can't see," he said, "and I'm not telling you."

Zac was mad because Andy was scaring him. Andy was mean. He kept running around the house with a songbook in his hand, pretending that he was a carolaler. Whenever Zac told him to stop, his brother would just sing louder.

"Zac, I'm not going carolaling anymore," Andy said. "I promise."

"You promise?" Zac narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Yeah," Andy nodded. "I promise-omise." He smiled. "I promise-omise-lomise-somise-romise-bomise-thomas-"

"Stop promising!" Zac yelled.

"Okay." Andy folded his hands between his knees and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Do you want to do something?"

Zac went back to his drawing. "I'm not going carolaling."

Andy shook his head. "No carolaling. You and me are gonna play flying cat baby."

Zac raised his eyebrows. "How do you play that?"

"First," began Andy, "you have to get a cat."

Gallagher was sitting on top of the heating vent, his fur lifting in the warm blast of rising air. He growled as Andy approached him. Gallagher wanted to be left alone.

"You good kitty, come here a second," Andy's voice was a whispered sing-song. "Do you want to play a little game?"

Zac stood back. "I'm not going by that cat. It's mean."

"No, she's a good boy," Andy said. He was under the impression that all cats were of the female gender, even if people called them "boys." He also thought that all dogs were male, even the ones that had puppies. "Aren't you a good boy, Gallagher?" He turned to Zac. "She's the bestest cat in the world."

"No it isn't." Zac shook his head and put his finger in his mouth. That cat was the biggest, scariest, meanest cat in the world. Every time he got anywhere near it, it snarled at him. "I hate that cat."

"Gallagher," Andy cooed, "Gallagher, want to play a game?" He stroked the cat's fur. Gallagher purred contentedly. "C'mon, boy. C'mon, sweetie. Play a game with us."

"No!" Zac shrieked.

"Yeah, come on." Andy coaxed Gallagher off of the heating vent and onto the edge of the coffee table. "Zac, you sit on the other edge," he instructed.

"Why?" Zac asked.

Andy rolled his eyes. "Because I SAID," he told his little brother. "Now, do it."

Zac shrugged and climbed onto the edge of the coffee table, as far away from Gallagher as he could manage.

"Now, stay there. . ." Andy instructed. "Don't move." He looked around the room, grabbing a battered blue blanket off the couch.

Zac narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you need your blankie for?"

"A cape," Andy said, as innocent as ever.

"What for?" Zac pressed, watching his brother tie the blanket around Gallagher's neck. "How come?"

"Because it's the flying cat baby game," Andy explained. He stooped to pet Gallagher. "You like this game, don't you, Gally?"

Zac took a deep breath. "This doesn't sound good. . ." he began.

It was all he had time to say. Andy took a flying leap and launched himself onto Zac's end of the coffee table. The table tipped, sending Gallagher flying through the air. The cat let out a blood curdling screech as it crashed into the Christmas tree, knocking it over. Landing among the branches, unhurt except for his injured pride, Gallagher thrashed back and forth, tangling himself in the string of Christmas lights and yowling all the while.

"He can FLY!" Andy yelled, happily.

"What happened?" Troy rushed into the room, Kevin right behind him.

"I don't think that cat can actually fly!" Zac had ended up on the floor next to the upended coffee table. "I hated that game, Tay!"

"What did you DO?" Kevin demanded, his voice of mixture of alarm, disgust and concern.

Andy grinned up at Troy and spread his arms out expansively. "Did you know Gallagher can FLY?"

"Oh. . ." Troy was speechless. He had no idea what had happened. The cat was screeching so loud he could barely think. "He. . . can?"

"You fly!" Andy told Gallagher. "Like Superman!"

Troy took a deep breath. "What happened?"

"They did something really bad," Kevin told him. Oh, shoot! he thought. Troy's probably going to kick us out now. . . and find three calm, quiet kids who would never, ever dream about sending cats flying into Christmas trees. He swallowed hard.

"It wasn't really bad!" Andy defended. "We were just seeing if the cat could fly."

"Can he fly?" Troy asked.

Andy nodded, grinning hugely. "Yeah, he'd of flieded great if that TREE hadn't been in the way."

Troy took a deep breath. "Andy, Gallagher has never flown before. How did you get him to fly?"

"It's really easy," Andy told him. "All you do is put him on the end of the table, and tie his cape on him, and then you jump on the other end and he goes. . ." Andy's eyes were glazed with joy by this point, "fly-ing through the ai-ir like SUPER GROVER!"

"You. . . launched him?" Troy didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. He thought it was kind of funny, but it could have been dangerous, too. . . maybe he should be mad. "Andy, I don't think. . ."

Kevin, in the meantime, had crept over to the fallen Christmas tree and was attempting to get close enough to Gallagher to release him from the strand of Christmas lights he was snared in. "Ouch!" he yelled, as Gallagher raked a sharp-fingernailed paw down his forearm, drawing blood. "You. . . you stupid cat!"

"He's really smart!" Andy protested. "He can fly!"

"Here, Kev, let me do that." Troy knelt and reached for the Christmas lights. Gallagher clamped Troy's finger firmly between his teeth. "You da-. . . I mean. . . you dumb. .." Troy stole a furtive glance at Kevin, Andy and Zac, "you dumb cat!"

"You aren't supposed to call people dumb," Andy piped.

"Oh, there are many things I could call this cat," Troy observed, darkly. "Many, many things. . ."

"Here, I'll get him out for you," Andy offered. "He always listens to me."

"Be really, really careful," Troy cautioned, but Andy was already pulling at the string of lights which bound the cat so tightly. In two or three motions, Gallagher was free.

"Okay, boy!" Andy exclaimed. "You're all set!"

Gallagher's frenzied screeching began anew as he shot straight into the air with rage, landing a few feet away, near Zac.

Zac, more terrified of Gallagher than ever, scooted away as fast as he could and wrapped his arms around Troy's neck. "Don't let the cat get me!" he cried.

Andy was triumphant. "I told you Gallagher could fly," he said.

"That wasn't flying," Kevin countered. "I don't know what that was, but it wasn't flying."

"He'll get over it," Troy decided, hoping it was true. "Just don't play games like that with him anymore."

"Yeah, Andy," Kevin and Zac added, in unison.

For a moment, Andy looked taken aback. "I thought he might like to fly. . ." he began, blinking back tears.

"It's okay." Troy put an arm around Andy, grinning at Kevin. "I know you were only trying to help him."

"I was," Andy agreed, matter of factly.

"You could have killed somebody-" Kevin began, but stopped himself. "Troy, do you need any help getting the Christmas tree back up?"

Troy scrutinized the fallen Douglas fir. "Actually, I'd really appreciate that."

"Yeah," Zac nodded. "Andy BROKE it."

"I did not." Andy shook his head. "Gallagher did."

"It's not broken." Troy untwined Zac's arms from around his neck and wondered where to start. "We'll get it back up."

And they did, too. . . sort of. "Maybe we should turn it around so no one can see that side," Kevin suggested. "It looks really. . . smashed up."

"Yeah," Andy agreed. "Gallagher should have pickeded somewhere else to fly into."

Zac tugged on Troy's shirt. "What's Sharpay going to say?"

Troy looked momentarily stricken. Sharpay wouldn't care about the Christmas tree, but she'd definitely want to know where he'd been while Andy and Zac were sending cats flying into Christmas trees. Then, she'd say something like, "Well, it wasn't your fault. You can't watch them every second, but Troy. . . I mean, it takes three seconds for someone to get seriously, seriously hurt. What if the Christmas tree had fallen over on one of them? What if the cat had gone through the window and there was broken glass? Everything is dangerous, Troy. You would not believe some of the things I've seen in the emergency room. . ."

And then Troy would feel guilty, and go to bed having dreams about little kids being trapped under toppling Christmas trees. He knew what Sharpay would say, and he didn't really blame her. After all, she had seen some tragic and entirely preventable accidents and working in an emergency room made her a lot more attuned to possible dangers than he was. Still, Troy sometimes wondered if his own attitude might not be healthier. Neither Andy nor Zac had gotten hurt, the cat hadn't gotten hurt and the Christmas tree was expendable. Therefore, he would not let his mind dwell upon the might-have-beens and just be grateful that he didn't have to deal with any of them.

Troy sighed. "We'll just turn it around and hope she doesn't notice."

He caught the wide-eyed look that passed between Kevin and Andy. "You mean we're not going to tell her?" Kevin asked.

"You mean we're going to. . . lie?" Andy whispered.

Now Troy really felt guilty. "Well. . . no, not lie, exactly. But I think it might be better if. . . since nothing happened. . ."

"We don't exactly run out and tell Sharpay first thing," Kevin finished, satisfied. "Not lie, Andy. Just don't make Sharpay worried."

"Okay." Andy agreed, nodding.

Troy cringed, feeling awful. "You can tell her if you want," he said. "I mean, she won't worry or anything. . ."

"You don't want to get in trouble?" Zac piped.

"It wasn't his fault," Kevin told him. "Troy doesn't want you to get in trouble."

Zac's lowed lip trembled. "I didn't do it! Andy did!"

"I didn't!" Andy shook his head emphatically. "Gallagher did."

"Right," Troy agreed. "Gallagher did. So, Gallagher will be the one who gets in trouble."

"I don't want that to happen," Andy breathed.

"I do," Kevin decided, examining the scratch on his arm.

"But we won't tell Sharpay because . . . I'm going to fix it," Troy said, finally. "But you guys have to go to bed."

"I want to stay up, see you fix the tree," Zac piped up.

Troy bit his lip. He hadn't anticipated that. "Well, Zac, you really can't do that because. . ."

Andy's eyes were shining. He gazed up at Troy with deep admiration. "Wow!" he said. "I don't believe it!"

"What?" Troy asked, wondering what Andy didn't believe.

"I didn't know you were magical," Andy breathed.

"Magical?" Troy sputtered.

"Yeah." Andy nodded. "Zac, Troy's going to fix the Christmas tree by magic."

For a moment, Zac wondered whether to be terrified or amazed. He ended up staring at Troy with a mixture of the two written on his face, his body tensed and ready to flee. "You ARE?"

"No one can watch him while he does it," Andy went on. "It's against the law."

Zac sucked in his breath. "Oh. . ." Everything made sense now.

"We have to go to bed so he can do it," Andy said, reaching for Zac's hand. "We have to be asleep." Andy shot a pointed look at Kevin. "It's like SANTA CLAUS," he said. "You have to be SLEEPING."

Zac, still regarding Troy apprehensively, followed Andy up the stairs. Kevin looked up at Troy, his hands in his pockets.

"If I were you, I'd just turn the Christmas tree around," he suggested.

"It would be easier," Troy agreed. "Do you think I should have told them?"

Kevin shook his head. "Nah. This way, you can get them to do pretty much whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" Troy echoed.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, just threaten to turn them into a frog or. . . something. . ." He grinned.

Troy folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you think I should do?" he challenged.

"Yeah," Kevin agreed. "Hey!" he laughed, as Troy picked him up and flung him over one of his shoulders. "Put me down!"

"Do you really think I should do that?" Troy smiled, heading toward the stairs. "Do you want me to. . . lie?"

"Lie!" Kevin beat his fists against Troy's back, giggling. "LIE! LIE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT!"

"That wouldn't be very nice," Troy pointed out.

"Just turn the stupid tree around," Kevin gasped, "and let me go!"

"No, I was thinking I'd just carry you around like this. . ." Troy had reached the upstairs hallway and was heading toward the boys' room, "until I got tired. . . and then I'd drop you. . ."

"No!" Kevin shrieked.

"Yes!" Troy exclaimed. He entered the room and grinned at Andy and Zac, who were sitting on their bed, staring wide eyed.

"Put my brother down!" Zac demanded, lunging at Troy.

"No, Zac, it's okay!" Kevin yelled, breathlessly. "It's okay!"

"There ya go." Troy deposited Kevin onto his own bed, maintaining his balance as Zac barreled into him. "Zac, don't worry. I'm not going to do that anymore. . . for now." He grinned.

Kevin shook his head a few times, to clear it. "Whoa. . ." He smiled, dizzily.

"Now, I am going to fix the Christmas tree," Troy said. "Am I right?"

"Right," Andy assured him.

"And you guys are going to. . ." Troy began, waiting for one of them to finish the sentence.

"Go watch?" Zac asked.

"Go tell Sharpay?" Kevin suggested.

"No. . ." Troy folded his arms across his chest. "You guys. . . all three of you. . . are going to go to bed. And go to sleep. Am I right?"

Kevin paused. "Um. . ."

"Am I right?" Troy asked, smiling at him. "Or maybe. . . I should just. . . find someone to carry around a little more, maybe. . ."

"Yes!" Kevin piped. "We will! We will go to bed!"

"Good," Troy smiled. "I'm glad we agree."

"Me too," Andy said seriously, climbing beneath the covers. "I'm very glad."

Troy ran a hand through his hair, grinning up at the ceiling. "I'm happy to hear it."

"Me too," Kevin agreed, his voice filled with mock seriousness.

"If people agree, then nobody's fighting," Andy went on.

"Andy, quit talking." Zac, unimpressed with this piece of kindergarten philosophy, frowned at his older brother. "It's 'noying."

"I'm just telling the truth," Andy said, forcefully, then hedged. "It's the truth, right?"

"Yep, it's the truth," Troy agreed. He turned to Kevin. "Now, where do you think you're going?"

Kevin grinned sheepishly. "To brush my teeth."

"Why? It's like you think you have to brush them every night, or something!" Troy teased him.

Kevin looked taken aback. "I do!" he exclaimed. "And in the morning, too. Every morning. And every night." Slowly, it dawned on him that Troy was kidding. "But I bet you never brush your teeth."

"No, I don't," Troy agreed.

"Because they're not real," Kevin went on. "They're dentures. Every night, you take'em out and put'em in a glass of water next to your bed."

"That's right!" Troy sounded pleased.

"And that's why I brush my teeth," Kevin finished. "I'm scared I'll turn out like you." He scampered down the hall in case Troy decided to pursue him.

Troy didn't. He sat on the edge of Andy and Zac's bed, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear.

"I wanna see you take your teeth out," Zac told him.

"Kevin was joking," Troy told him. "My teeth don't really come out."

"No, they do," Zac insisted. "I want to see 'em come out!"

"But they're stuck!" Troy pointed out.

"I wanna see!" Zac exclaimed. "Please?"

"I think maybe they're stuck with glue," Andy said, unsurely.

"Oh. . ." Zac nodded. "Glue."

"Maybe Troy feels bad all his teeth fell out," Andy whispered, loudly enough that Troy could hear him.

"Oh. . ." Zac's eyes filled with sympathy. "Don't feel bad."

"Maybe new ones will grow in," Andy added.

"When Kevin lost his teeth, new ones grew in," Zac agreed.

"The tooth fairy must have brang you lots and lots of money for all your teeth," Andy observed.

"I won't tell Sharpay your teeth aren't real," Zac promised.

Troy held back hysterical laughter. "Thank you," he said. "I'd appreciate that."

"And I'll tell Kevin," Andy vowed, "that he can't make fun of you anymore. It hurts your feelings."

"Hurts your feelings," Zac echoed, shaking his head sadly.

"It's too bad, Troy," Andy said, "but don't worry. It isn't the end of the world."

Troy nodded, solemnly. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

----------------------

PS: Tell me what you think!

margaret


	16. Chapter 15

Title: Elsewhere

**Title: Elsewhere**

**Chapter 15**

There was a window at the end of the school hallway; Kevin perched on the radiator beneath it. The sky was dark gray, thick with heavy clouds, but he'd heard the weather report this morning, and it wasn't predicting snow.

Still, he thought, maybe things had changed. It would be nice if it snowed. They might get out of school a few days early, if the roads were bad.

Kevin wished for snow. He didn't want to see Mrs. Schafly until 2021. . . or, preferably, not ever again. She was in there now, talking to Troy. Andy had taken Zac down to the kindergarten room to visit his teacher, but Kevin had stayed here, uninterested in brightly colored blocks and the playing-house corner. At the far end of the corridor, a lone custodian moved a vacuum cleaner-like machine back and forth against the tile; the entire floor shone with fresh wax. Maybe, Kevin thought, he'd become a janitor when he grew up. It probably didn't make a difference whether or not you'd failed second grade.

He knew he wasn't doing very well, and he knew he needed to try harder. At the same time, he could hardly ever keep his mind on school, when there was so much else to think about. The word "preoccupied" had not yet entered Kevin's vocabulary, but that was exactly what he was. And when you are preoccupied, extended concentration is hard to come by.

Kevin wondered what Mrs. Schafly was saying about him. Probably not anything good, he thought. He felt bad. . . worried that Troy would get mad at him. Kevin felt his stomach twist. If he were Troy, he'd be really mad. . .

Inside the second grade classroom, however, Troy wasn't growing more and more angry with each passing moment. Instead, he felt overwhelmed. . . and more than a little perplexed. He didn't know what was expected of him. . . and he hadn't the slightest idea what he was supposed to do.

"I hesitate to suggest that Kevin's inattentiveness is rooted in any organic disorder," Mrs. Schafly said. "He can do well when he wants to. . . which doesn't appear to be very often."

"I think he has a lot going on. . ." Troy began, then wondered if excuses might only make things worse. What did you say at these things? He felt like he should have read up on the subject, brought a lawyer with him, or something. He had a lot of questions, and not the first clue how to ask them.

"I understand that," Mrs. Schafly said. "And I am willing to make allotments. However, I feel. . . and I think you may agree with me, that it would be in Kevin's best interest to become more adaptable. With stronger academic skills, his schoolwork might not suffer so much during periods of. . . stress."

"So. . . how do we do that?" Troy asked. He felt stupid as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He needed a bigger vocabulary than the one he had already. He should be something white-collar and intimidating, instead of a lumbering ex-NBA star who dropped out of college after two years. He should have an office, a leather chair, Prada loafers instead of Knicks warm-up gear from 2015…

"Well, I would say that he needs to apply himself," Mrs. Schafly said. "I don't know how to motivate him. . . nothing I've tried has made a difference."

Well, that makes two of us, Troy thought. You think I know how to motivate the kid?

He didn't say that, though. What Troy asked was, "What have you tried?"

"Well," Mrs. Schafly said, thinking, "pretty much everything. I had him sitting in the front row. He still didn't pay attention. I tried a sticker chart. . . when he paid attention, he'd get a sticker. If he didn't, I'd subtract one." Mrs. Schafly shook her head. "He ended up with stickers in the negative numbers. He paid even less attention when there was an incentive to pay attention. I asked him about it, and do you know what he said?"

Troy shook his head. He didn't know what Kevin had said. . . Mrs. Schafly hadn't told him yet.

"He said he didn't really care about how many stickers he had, that it didn't make a difference to him. He said he kept forgetting that he was supposed to be earning stickers. So, I taped the chart to his desk to help him remember." Mrs. Schafly took a deep breath. "He gave the entire sticker chart away to another child in the class, because, he told me, 'she likes stickers better than I do.'"

Troy thought that that was kind of nice of Kevin, personally, but he sensed that Mrs. Schafly wanted him to be appalled. "Hmm. . ."

"Is he this difficult at home?" Mrs. Schafly inquired, curiously.

Troy was taken aback. "At home? No. . . not really. I mean, I wouldn't consider him to be very difficult." Then again, he thought, how exactly did you know if a child was difficult? Taking care of kids all day was the most difficult thing he'd ever done. Being constantly responsible, constantly alert and constantly available was more draining than he could ever have imagined. Still, Troy thought, it wasn't as if Kevin threw fits or beat up on other kids. He didn't start fires or steal things. In fact, Troy thought, it was the fact that Kevin wasn't very difficult that bothered him. Kevin didn't want to be any trouble. . . he never even asked for anything, Troy realized. The fact filled him with regret, and a small bit of undirected anger. "No," he said to Mrs. Schafly, decisively. "He isn't any trouble at all."

Maybe Mrs. Schafly spoke before she thought; maybe her words reflected only grave misjudgment. Whatever the case, the next words out of her mouth were regrettable. "I find that hard to believe, Mr. Bolton."

Troy's eyes, when they locked on hers, were a darker swirling midnight rather than the ultramarine they usually were. "I don't. Mrs. Schafly."

For a moment, Mrs. Schafly looked nervous. "I'm sorry. . . I shouldn't have spoken so soon. Perhaps Kevin is different at home. However, based on what he has shown me with his behavior at school, I do have a hard time believing that he doesn't exhibit, at least in some ways, the same negative attitude and lack of respect for authority that he shows at school."

"Lack of respect for authority?" Troy repeated.

"Yes," Mrs. Schafly agreed. "For example. . ." She reached into a folder on her desk and pulled out a large sheet of cream colored paper. "His holiday picture."

"Ooh." Troy drew in a breath. "I remember that."

Mrs. Schafly nodded. "Yes." She held the picture up. "Do you know what he ended up drawing?"

Troy squinted at the crayon marks on the thick sheet of paper. "Looks like a forest fire to me," he observed. He was unable to resist the temptation of adding, "Kind of in an early Van Gogh style, or maybe he'd lean more toward Monet." He smiled.

"Mr. Bolton, Kevin drew burning Christmas trees," Mrs. Schafly said. "He was not trying to imitate any master artist, he was making a mockery of the assignment."

"A mockery of the assignment?" Troy parroted.

Mrs. Schafly nodded emphatically. "Yes, a mockery. Kevin does not like being told what to do, Mr. Bolton. He either will not attempt an assignment, or will put very little effort into it." She pulled a few more sheets of paper from the folder. "These are a few of his most recent papers. . . at least, a few of the ones he's bothered to turn in." She sat back primly, scrutinizing Troy as he studied the papers.

"Is this handwriting?" Troy pointed to the pencil scrawl that curved and snaked across every line on the paper.

"Unfortunately," Mrs. Schafly agreed, sagely.

"What does it say?" Troy asked. He could scarcely make out individual letters, let alone words.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Mrs. Schafly said. "Sometimes his writing is better than this. . . occasionally, I can read it."

Troy checked the date on the top of the paper. "When this was assigned. . ." he began.

"Yes?" Mrs. Schafly inquired.

"Well, the day before, we'd just told the boys something. . ." Troy wondered how much he should say. "We told them something that I know Kevin was. . . is. . . very worried about."

"I see." Mrs. Schafly nodded. "Well, that's my point. Many factors in Kevin's life are. . . out of his control. His performance in school, however, is within his control, and he would do a lot better for himself if he'd learn to take advantage of the fact."

"Well. . ." Troy took a deep breath. "How well, do you think, Kevin is capable of doing in school, if he applied himself?"

"I would say, at least low average," Mrs. Schafly told him. "Probably not more than that, but it's better than he's doing now?"

"Why low average?" Troy tested.

"Well," Mrs. Schafly said, "you can't expect a high performance from someone whose capabilities are so limited."

"You mean because of the outside factors in his life," Troy commented.

"No, I mean. . ." Mrs. Schafly leaned toward Troy and lowered her voice. "Mr. Bolton, you are not Kevin's natural parent. I would not ordinarily tell someone this about their child, but I believe this information will help you as you attempt to. . . deal. . . with this boy." She tapped her long fingernails against the edge of the desk. "I do not believe that Kevin has. . . the potential. . . to go very far in life, and I do not believe he has much of a chance. Even if he concentrates entirely on academics, he will never be a high achiever. I do not believe we should force him to do more than he's able to, as I doubt he has the ability to get A's, or B's, or even C's, in some areas. However, I believe he can pass, and all we should hope for is that he's passing." She sat back. "In a few months, Kevin won't be your concern, Mr. Bolton. Or mine. All we'll be able to hope for is that we've instilled some semblance of work ethic into the boy. Do you see what I mean?"

Troy narrowed his eyes. Emotions swirled within him; he was really angry now. "Mrs. Schafly," he said, "Kevin is eight years old."

"Well," Mrs. Schafly said, "it's never to late to start trying."

"You're looking at an eight year old and judging his entire future?" Troy continued.

"I'm speaking from experience," Mrs. Schafly countered.

"Do you have any idea what it must be like. . ." Troy struggled to keep his voice level, "to be eight years old, to have a mother who takes off and leaves whenever she feels like it, and to be the only one in charge of your five and three year old brothers half the time?"

"Well, I can imagine. . ." Mrs. Schafly began.

"No," Troy interrupted, "I don't think you can imagine it. I can't imagine it. No one can imagine what it must be like to be eight years old and worrying about the electricity being cut off, the phone service being cut off, or their mother never coming home again unless they actually are an eight year old in that situation. Or were," he added, after thinking for a moment.

"What happens to a student at home is not really our concern at school. . ." Mrs. Schafly began.

"Yes I believe it is your concern," Troy said. "You can't expect him to come to school and forget about everything that is happening to him at home. You can't expect him to sit there and concentrate when he doesn't even know what he'll find when he walks in the door that afternoon."

"If he comes to school, we should expect him to be able to concentrate," Mrs. Schafly's tone of voice was unfaltering.

"Then you're expecting more than he's capable of," Troy said. "You're holding him up to unfair expectations."

"In that case," Mrs. Schafly pointed out, "you are agreeing with me. Kevin isn't capable of a satisfactory performance in school."

"No, I am not agreeing with you!" Troy told her, forcefully. "In fact, if he could go through everything that's happening to him right now, come to school and still perform well, I'd be far more concerned than I am right now."

"And why is that?" Mrs. Schafly questioned, icily.

"If Kevin was sailing along, doing wonderfully," Troy said, "I would take it to signify that he was incapable of grasping the situation he was in. If he was happy and well adjusted and bringing home straight A's, I would wonder if there was something wrong with him."

"He needs to learn to adjust!" Mrs. Schafly attempted, but there was a feebleness in her voice that hadn't been there before.

"Mrs. Schafly," said Troy, "there are certain situations no sane person should ever adjust to. Being well adjusted, in Kevin's situation, would signify insanity."

"I'm certainly not suggesting that he's insane," huffed Mrs. Schafly.

"I'm not suggesting it either," said Troy. "But I refuse to believe that he is stupid. He can do better and he will do better, and I believe that you and I should focus on ways of trying to help him. Still, I won't fault him for maladjustment, and I won't consider him incapable of achievement. Neither, I hope, will you."

Mrs. Schafly sighed exhaustedly. "I appreciate your resolve," she said. "If you believe Kevin can improve his performance, I invite you to try anything you can think of, and I will be supportive. Still, I base my judgments on what he has shown me, and I don't feel that I have been too harsh. You must remember that I have thirty-one other kids in my classroom, and giving Kevin the type of attention he seems to require will often be out of the question."

"That's okay," said Troy, his anger dissipating with every breath that he took. "I understand your position, and I'm glad you respect mine. I think we need to give Kev a chance. . . and I think. . . I hope. . . I know we will be surprised by what he is capable of."

Mrs. Schafly nodded. "I'll go over Kevin's assignments and compile a packet of worksheets for him to complete over winter vacation," she decided. "If he completes them, and completes them carefully, I'll pass him for the quarter. Hopefully, he'll be able to get his act together during the second part of the year."

"That'll be good," Troy said. "My wife and I will do our best to help him. Thanks."

Mrs. Schafly nodded. "I'll be sending the worksheets home with him tomorrow."

"And I'll see that he finishes them," Troy promised. He stood up to leave.

"Mr. Bolton?" Mrs. Schafly called, when Troy was halfway to the door.

"Yes?" Troy asked. "I will withhold judgment on Kevin's capabilities until he himself proves to me what he is able to do," Mrs. Schafly told him.

Troy smiled, pleased. "Thank you, Mrs. Schafly. I'm sure you won't be disappointed."

Mrs. Schafly watched him as he left the room, a sense of wonderment washing over her. He seemed awfully willing to stand up for a kid he hardly knew, a kid who wasn't even his own. It puzzled Mrs. Schafly. She could hardly understand it, and she wasn't sure if she ever would.

Troy scanned the hallway. Kevin was right where he'd left him, perched on the radiator at the end of the hall, staring out the window at the few flakes of snow that had escaped from the clouds and were drifting toward the ground. Troy paused, his hands in his pockets, and sighed. Despite what he'd told Mrs. Schafly, he didn't feel confident at all. If anything, Kevin seemed more unreachable now, curled next to the window with his palm to the glass, a small, resolute little figure who was lost, perhaps, to everyone. . . maybe even to himself. Troy shook his head, and started down the hall.

Kevin looked up, biting his lip. The apprehension in his eyes was impossible to mistake; he stiffened when he saw Troy. "I guess it didn't go very good, huh?"

"It went fine," Troy said, his gaze fixed out the window.

"I really do try," Kevin whispered, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible. "She doesn't believe me, but I really do try."

"I know you do," Troy said. "Don't worry about it."

Kevin slid off the radiator. "Can we go now?"

"Uh huh," Troy agreed. He wondered what to say. He wasn't mad, he wasn't disappointed, but he couldn't find any words that seemed to fit what he was feeling. Again, Troy wished for that elusive big vocabulary. Still, it didn't seem to him that anyone, anywhere, could ever come up with the right terms, the appropriate trite phrases that would wrap so much emotion into a neat, tight package, something he could use and stand upon firmly, thinking "this is what I mean."

You aren't my kid, Troy thought, looking at Kevin, but my God, I want to fight for you. "Kev," he said aloud, "you're a good kid."

Kevin looked up at him alarmed. "Mrs. Schafly said THAT?"

"No," Troy said. "I mean. . . not in so many words. I just thought I'd tell you that I thought so."

"Oh," said Kevin. He was quiet for a moment. "You do?"

"Yeah," Troy assured him. "Don't forget it."

"I won't," Kevin promised. He scratched the back of his neck and glanced back at the window down the hall. I'm a good kid, he thought to himself. It's a pretty nice lie.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Blow your nose, honey." Sharpay handed Andy a tissue and straightened the collar of his white polo shirt. "Maybe you should take some tissues with you. You can keep them in your pocket."

"In my pocket," Andy repeated. He stared over Sharpay's shoulder at one of the pictures on the mantelpiece. "Is that you, Mommy. . . oops. . ." he blushed, his face truning as red as the sweater Sharpay had made him put on. "Sorry, Sharpay."

Sharpay sighed. "That's okay, sweetie, it was an accident. But I'm not your mommy, honey. And it will hurt her feelings if you call me Mommy, so remember to call me Sharpay." She smiled. "Don't forget and call your mommy Sharpay!"

Andy giggled. "That's not her name. She's not as nice as you."

Sharpay cringed. "Don't tell her that, either, or you'll really hurt her feelings. Remember, your mommy is trying really, really hard."

"We have to say please and thank you," Andy recited, in a singsong, "and Merry Christmas, and not say we wish we were at your house, and not say that we love you better than we love Mommy, and Kevin can't say anything bad about her or Troy will find out, and Troy will be mad. . ."

"That's enough," Sharpay told him, worried that he'd eventually spiel off this litany of rules to his mother. "I think you'll know what to do. I trust you. Just be a good boy, okay?"

"I'm always a good boy," Andy pointed out. "And we can't say that we want to leave, or wet the bed, or take the cat, or run away. . ."

"When did you add those rules?" Sharpay asked, not recognizing the last three.

"Kevin made them up," Andy told her. "And we can't cry, or fight, or hit anybody-even-if-they-hit-us-first. . ."

"Well, you're very good at memorization," Sharpay commented.

"And I can't hog all the covers if we sleep in the same bed," Andy finished. "Kev made me promise."

Sharpay grinned. "You would never do that."

"I wouldn't," Andy agreed. "If I did, it would be because I was sleeping. If I was sleeping, I wouldn't know I was doing it, was I?"

"Of course not," Sharpay assured him. She looked up to see Kevin coming down the stairs. His head down, he was dragging his feet and staring sullenly at the carpet. "You look nice, honey."

Kevin sighed hugely. He slunk into the room and positioned himself on the couch, his arms folded across his chest.

"How are you doing?" Sharpay asked him.

Kevin sighed again. "I dunno."

"I know this isn't easy," Sharpay said, smoothing Andy's hair, "but it'll be a good thing. Good for you guys, and good for your mother, too."

"I guess," Kevin breathed. "I hope so."

"It will," Sharpay told him, sounding way more sure of herself than she felt. "It will."

"And we will see my mommy on Christmas," Andy chanted. "And we will see my mommy on the day after Christmas."

"That's right," Sharpay agreed, not knowing what else to say.

"It's two nights," Andy went on. "Two nights. And today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. And then we come back and see if Santa Claus came here, too. Do you think he will?"

"I'm sure he will." Sharpay was certain of this. "He definitely will."

"Santa Claus is dead," Kevin muttered. "Dead, dead, dead. . ."

"Kev. . ." Sharpay warned him.

"Fine," Kevin scowled.

"I know you aren't happy about this," Sharpay told him, standing up, "but there's not really anything anyone can do to change it."

"I know," Kevin sighed.

"Kevin. . ." Sharpay began, then shook her head. "You can call. If things get too bad there, you can call and we will come and pick you up. All three of you. Any time. Day or night. Okay?"

"Okay." Kevin didn't look reassured. "I guess so."

"It'll be fine," Sharpay repeated, attempting to meet Kevin's eyes. "Believe me, honey, it will be."

--

"So, are you sure that's all you need?" Troy asked Zac. He played with the zipper on the edge of the backpack, not ready to close it yet.

"Yeah," Zac agreed. "Just clothes. And Ninja Turtles."

"You don't want any books or anything?" Troy prodded.

"My mommy doesn't read to us," Zac told him, matter-of-factly. "Kevin does. And you do. And Sharpay does. But not my mommy." He smiled. "You read better than she does, anyway."

Troy didn't know how to respond to that. What did he say. . . thank you? It might very well be true, unfortunately, and to deny it would be a lie. "Well, I don't know about that."

"Do you like these?" Zac had moved on to the permanent marker that had fallen out of Troy's pocket and landed on the floor. "You gots lots of them."

"I use them to work now. Remember I told you I used to be a basketball player?," Troy explained, capturing the marker before Zac had time to decorate the bedspread. "Well, now I draw cartoons."

"Is that what your job is?" Zac wondered.

"Yep. . . pretty much," Troy assured him. "You know that place we go where we drop off the drawings every week?"

"Your office?" Zac asked.

"That's right, buddy. . . you're really smart," Troy smiled. "That's my office. Someday, you and me will go there and go inside and meet my boss."

"How come you never is at your office?" Zac didn't know much about jobs, and the people who had them, but he did sense that it was kind of unusual to be home all day.

"Well," Troy said, "the good thing about my job is that I have an office at home, too. That's why I don't always have to go to my office to work. . . I can pick up assignments there and do them at home."

Zac shook his head, having no clue what Troy was talking about. It sounded kind of nice, though. "When I grow up, can I work at your office?"

"If you want," Troy grinned. "I'd love to work with you."

"When I'm big though," Zac informed him. "When I'm four or five. Or maybe thirty-six or ninety-twelve."

"Are you sure. . . you'd be old enough. . . to go to work. . . when you were only ninety-twelve. . . years old?" Troy sputtered, shaking with silent laughter.

Zac considered this. "Maybe I could wait until I was bigger," he decided. "Ninety fifty-two or ninety-eleven."

"That might be a good idea," Troy agreed.

"Yeah, if I was too little, maybe I should wait to go to work," Zac resolved. "So I wouldn't break the law."

"We don't want to break any laws," Troy concurred. "But I'm not going to work with my mommy though!" Zac exclaimed.

"What's her job?" Troy couldn't resist asking.

"She smokes cig'rettes," Zac told him, seriously. "It's all she ever does," he sighed. Promptly, he changed the subject. "How come that deer's nose is all red? Does it have a cold?"

--

"I don't feel good about this," Troy whispered to Sharpay. They'd gotten the boys ready and Mary, the social worker, had arrived to pick them up. Troy and Sharpay had asked if they could drop them off at the halfway-house themselves, but their request had been denied. Children's Services felt that the less contact there was between foster and biological parents, the better the situation was for everyone. Maybe this was true, Troy thought. . . he didn't particularly know what he would say to Kathleen, and he didn't know if he wanted to see her again. Still, he'd feel a lot more comfortable knowing what exactly he was handing the boys over to, that was for sure. As he watched Mary's car disappear around the corner at the end of the street, he felt a hard knot of worry tighten in his stomach. "I really, really, really don't feel good about this, Shar. . ."

"I don't really either," Sharpay agreed. She tried to shake some sense into herself. "God. . . we have to detach ourselves somehow." She took a deep breath. "This is not good, honey. If anything, we should probably try to be happy for them."

"Yeah, but how do we know she'll really change?" Troy wondered. "If I just had some kind of insurance. . . if I knew she wouldn't relapse. . . if I knew for certain that she would never hurt them again, I could turn the boys back over to her. It's the fact that we don't know for certain that's the most awful part about it."

Sharpay sighed. "This is just a visit. Hopefully, it'll be a good test of the situation. . . if Kathleen is really incapable of being rehabilitated to the point where she can take care of herself, let alone the boys, we'll probably see it now. Otherwise, I think it will help her to see them again, and to have them with her for a short period of time. They're her kids, Troy. She has more of a right to them than we do."

"Well, when does someone cross the line," Troy asked, "and give up their right to have kids any longer?" Neglect and abandonment, in his mind, were certainly line-crossing activities.

Sharpay shook her head. "I don't know, Troy. All I know is, I definitely agree with you that the boys should never. . . ever. . . go back to live with her if it will mean that their safety is compromised. The only problem is, we have to give her a chance before we can make that judgment."

"Yeah," Troy sighed, "but I can't help wondering. . . what if. . ."

"Don't say it," Sharpay pleaded. "I'm thinking it."

Troy nodded. "Yeah. . . I guess I just think that the consequences. . . what might happen if she screws up even more badly this time. . . are possibly not worth the risk of giving her a chance."

"She deserves a chance," Sharpay decided. "She's lost as much as the kids. . . and the worst thing is, I don't know if she knows it. She deserves a chance to try again just as much as they do."

"I hope you're right." Troy shook his head.

"I hope I'm right, too." Sharpay agreed, nervously.

--

For the next two days Troy and Sharpay jumped every time the phone rang; they squirmed through and endless Christmas dinner at Troy's best friend Chad's house in Connecticut and were certain there would be an awful message on the machine by the time they got home. Instead, there were only the voices of Sharpay's brother Ryan and his two daughters, singing out a Christmas message. "We love you, Auntie Sharpay! We love you, Uncle Troy! We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we WISH you a merry CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY new YEAR!"

Troy chuckled. "We should save the tape and play it when they get boyfriends."

"Troy," Sharpay giggled. "That would be humiliating!"

"My thinking exactly," Troy grinned. His eyes slid toward hers. "You know what we didn't do last night?"

"What?" Sharpay asked, worried.

Troy took a deep breath. "We didn't. . . er, Santa Claus didn't. . . pay a visit."

Sharpay nodded. "Let's do that now."

"Okay," Troy agreed, happily. He dove toward the hallway closet and pulled out a roll of brightly colored wrapping paper. "Woohoo!"

Sharpay shook her head. "Maybe this will be too exciting for you," she observed wryly.

Troy shook his head. "No," he said. "This is my favorite part of Christmas."

"You've never done it before," Sharpay pointed out, taking a roll of tape out of a drawer on the hallway table.

"That doesn't mean I don't like it!" Troy grinned. "You know, next year. . . I'm going to gain some weight. . .well, some more weight. I haven't worked out properly in almost two months!"

"Yes, those three pounds you've gained really make you tip the scale. Me on the other hand…" Sharpay said disdainfully.

"You're crazy," Troy said. "What do you need to lose weight for? Anyway, I'm going to gain weight, and grow a beard and bleach it out, and then I'm going to go down to the mall and get a job. . ."

"You're the crazy one," Sharpay smiled. "They'll think you're psychopathic."

Troy flung his arms out. "I'm just filled with the Christmas spirit!" he exclaimed.

"I'll bet," Sharpay chuckled. "You're probably just filled with a little too much of the Christmas cheer."

"There's nothing wrong with Christmas cheer," Troy told Sharpay, drawing her close to him. "Mrs. Claus," he added, kissing her on the lips.

Sharpay leaned against him. "I didn't know you felt that way. . . Mr. Claus. . ." she teased.

"Oh, I do," Troy nodded, pleased that she was playing along with him. "You can never have too much Christmas cheer. . ." He kissed her again. "See, there's some more."

"If this is the kind of Christmas cheer you'll be spreading," Sharpay murmured up to him, "they'll never give you a job at the mall."

--

"I should have given them my pager number." Sharpay opened her eyes in the middle of the night and sat up in bed, waking Troy up. "I forgot to give them my pager number."

Troy yawned, "Wha. . .?" he inquired, blearily.

"My pager number," Sharpay said. "They should be able to page me, if they want. . ."

"Shar," Troy murmured, "the odds that any of them know how to use a pager are really small."

"Still. . ." Sharpay shook her head. "It would have made me feel so much better to know that they can use it."

"It would probably just cause more problems if they could," Troy pointed out. "The kids haven't called yet. They must be fine. They're probably enjoying themselves. Go back to sleep, Shar. Don't worry."

"Well, now I almost wish they'd call," Sharpay sighed. "So I wouldn't have to worry."

Troy shook his head. "They're fine. Worrying about this is going to make you crazy. Anyway, they're coming home. . ." Troy glanced at the bedside clock. "Today."

"Home?" Sharpay repeated, her voice high-pitched and questioning.

"O-h-h-h. . ." Troy groaned again, into the pillow. "Back, I meant. Coming back."

"We're going to be such wrecks when they have to leave for good. I already am a wreck. I'm not ready to give them up," Sharpay said with a hint of a waver in her voice.

Troy turned over and pulled Sharpay into his arms. He stroked her hair and face, trying to soothe her. After a few minutes in silence, Troy felt the beginnings of a damp spot forming on his chest.

"Sharpay, are you crying?"

"I just…you're such an amazing father, Troy," she whispered. "And all I've ever wanted is to give you children, and I can't, I can't," Sharpay broke off into a sob.

Troy sighed. Fertility problems had taken such a toll on their relationship, but he thought they were past that. "Sharpay, no. We will adopt, one day, I know we will. And you've given me more than I could ever ask for already. I love you wholly and completely, Sharpay Bolton, and however our family grows, right now it's you and me, and it's perfect."

--

AN: Well, there you have it. Only a few chapters left…

Leave a review!

margaret


	18. Chapter 17

The halfway-house had not been a good place

**Chapter 17**

The halfway-house had not been a good place. Nor had it been an especially bad place. . . in fact, it had been a place for which, Andy thought, it was very hard to decide one way or the other. He didn't especially like it, but he'd been worse places. And his mommy seemed pretty good. That was good.

There was nothing distinctive about the place where Kathleen was staying. Perhaps the occupants of the Alice K. Lyons Center were unable to deal with the emotionally-twisting ups and downs of everyday life. Perhaps they felt unconnected to the center itself. . . the term 'half-way house' referred to the act of passing through, of bridging one way of life to the next. . . and so the residents saw no reason to make the center theirs, knowing that they would soon be leaving. Either way, there was a curious emotional deadness that permeated the building, despite the holiday season.

It would be hard to be really happy here, Zac thought, swinging his legs back and forth as he perched on a bench in the hallway, but there's nothing to make you sad, either. His mother didn't seem happy or sad. She didn't seem mean, either. . . in fact, she was way nicer than she usually was. She kept saying that she wanted a second chance, that she wanted to make everything right. If you had asked Zac, he would have told you that he was pretty happy with the way things already were.

We can live with Troy and Sharpay, Zac thought, and Mommy can live here, and sometimes we can come and see her. It seemed like a good plan to him, and he was rather surprised that no one else seemed to have thought of it first. Hopping down from the bench, he went to go find Kevin.

"Kevin!" Zac found his older brother in the room where their mother was staying, sitting against the bed with a book in front of him. Every once in awhile, Kevin's mouth would move silently as he struggled to sound out a word he didn't know, but other than that, he was motionless. He didn't even look up when Zac came into the room.

Zac put his hands on his hips and scowled. "KEVIN!" he yelled, as loudly as he could.

Kevin jumped about three feet into the air. "Ahhhhh! Oh my God! What happened?"

"Nuffing happened." Zac rolled his eyes. "I just had a i-dea."

"That must be an unusual thing to happen to you," Kevin remarked.

"Why?" Zac demanded.

Kevin shook his head. "No reason. What?"

"It's a i-dea 'bout what we can do," Zac continued. "I was thinking, and I had a i-dea."

"What is your idea?" Kevin asked.

Zac paused. He scratched his head. "I don't a-member it any more."

Kevin sighed. "Okay." He started to go back to his book.

"Hi!" Andy sang out, entering the room. In his arms, he clutched a large baby doll, her glassy blue eyes clicking open and shut as he bounced through the door.

Yesterday, they'd opened one present each, and Andy had gotten a doll. The people at the center had offered to let him trade her in for a truck, but Andy had looked horrified at the prospect.

"No!" he'd gasped. "I can't give her away! She's my baby."

"But wouldn't you rather have a nice truck, son?"

Andy shook his head, cradling the doll in his arms. "No, not a truck. With a truck you can only fill it up with dirt and crash it into things. With a doll, you can dress it up and feed it, and you can sing songs to it. And you can hug it." He'd relayed this information seriously, terrified that they'd try to take his present away from him. "You can HUG it!"

"Okay, you can keep the doll," the woman in charge of the Christmas presents promised him. "If it means that much to you, you can keep it."

"Thank you!" Andy had exclaimed, his heart pounding in his chest as he squeezed the doll as tightly as he could. "Thank you!"

"Andy, don't you want a truck more than you want a stupid doll?" Kevin asked now, watching his brother pat the doll on the back.

"Kev," Andy had said, sounding dismayed, "how can you say something like that when she can hear you?" He covered the doll's ears. "Don't worry, baby. I won't let him talk like that. He's mean, isn't he, wanting to give you away?"

"She can't hear me, she's plastic." Kevin knocked on the doll's head. "There's nothing in there!"

"KEVIN!" Andy snatched the doll away and kissed it's forehead. "Don't hit her! You have to be careful with babies. They can break." He smoothed the doll's painted-on hair. "What do you think I should name you, sweetheart?"

"How about ugly?" Kevin asked.

Andy was scandalized. "You are the meanest uncle I ever heard of."

"I don't want to be an uncle!" Kevin protested.

"You have to be," Andy insisted.

"But I don't want to be. . . " Kevin began.

"You have to be." Andy told him, decisively. "You don't get a choice."

"I like the name Alice!" Zac piped up. "That's Snuffy's little sister. On Sesame Street."

"I'm not going to name her after a Snuffolupagus," Andy scoffed.

"I'm not sleeping in the same room as that thing!" Kevin exclaimed. "It's scary-looking!"

"Well, then. . . you can sleep in the hall," Andy decided. It was an easy decision to make.

"Why doesn't she sleep in the hall?" Kevin asked. "Or better yet, in the garbage can outside?"

"No. . . I don't want anyone to step on her," Andy pointed out. "And if she sleeps in the garbage can, she'll get dirty. And she'll be lonely."

"You can sleep with her," Kevin offered, but Andy wasn't listening.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "I'll call you. . . Baby Manda."

"I like Alice better," Zac pouted.

"That's the most dumbest name I ever hear of," Kevin agreed.

"It is not dumb!" Andy's face turned red with anger. "It is not!"

"Is too," Kevin shot back.

"Is not." Carefully, Andy set Baby Manda into his older brother's arms. "Here. You hold her while I get her a little bottle to drink."

"I don't want to hold her." Baby Manda's vacant blue eyes stared directly into Kevin's, and he drew back, repulsed. "Zac, you hold her!" He tossed Baby Manda to Zac, who didn't catch her.

"I don't like that baby," Zac decided, kicking Baby Manda into the hall.

"Stop it!" Andy wailed, scrambling to collect his doll. "Leave Baby Manda alone!" He gathered the smiling doll into his arms and began kissing her injuries. "I'm not going to play with you any more," he decided, glaring at his brothers. "You're mean." Andy sat down on the bed and drew Baby Manda into his lap. "Me and Manda are going to sit here until we go back to Troy and Sharpay's house."

It was then that Kathleen appeared in the doorway, quiet and subdued after an early morning counseling session. "What's going on?" she asked quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"They were-" Andy began, ready to expose his brothers as the coldhearted villains they were.

"Nothing," Kevin interupted him. "Just. . . playing. And getting ready to go, I guess."

Kathleen nodded. "You were being good?"

"Yeah," Andy agreed. He ran an exploratory finger down the ridge of Baby Manda's nose. "We were good."

"We were good," Zac echoed.

Kathleen nodded. After two days, she was still unused to her sons, not quite sure what to say to them. There had been times during the past few weeks when a strong sense of loss and longing had pervaded through her body, times when she had really, really missed them. Eventually, the yearning had settled around her like a cloak, and she remained wrapped in it, though not overwhelmed by it, except late at night, when she lay alone in her room. She'd fight off the emptiness as long as she could, but the void would always win in the end, creeping over her body like a slow-moving paralysis.

--

Kathleen, despite all of her shortcomings, did love her sons. She just didn't know what to do with them, overwhelmed by their needs, by the demands she felt they made on her. No sooner would she manage to focus on one than his brother would start clammering for her attention, until she felt that she was neverendingly being torn to pieces. Sometimes, she could hardly stand it anymore. Sometimes, she was honestly worried that she might kill them. That was why she left. . . not just to save herself, but to save them.

Watching Andy with the baby doll stirred in Kathleen memories the night Kevin was born, of holding him in her arms for the first time, unable to find the words to describe all of the emotions she was feeling. She only knew that she had never felt any of them before; and she didn't quite understand a single one. She'd been so young then, she thought. She should have waited. She shouldn't have had kids at all. She wasn't any sort of mother.

Still, she hadn't known that then. Holding her baby in her arms for the first time, letting his tiny fingers clench around one of her own, Kathleen had been aware only of the strongest attachment she had ever felt to anything in her life. When they'd lifted Kevin out of her arms to take him back to the nursery, she'd been sure she would never see him again. She'd lain there in the dark, crying quietly, until gray dawn light streaked across the sky and they wheeled the babies back in for their six o'clock feedings. Robby had staggered in three hours later. He'd spent the night getting drunk, but he had stopped at the grocery store on his way to the hospital and picked up a bouquet of flowers and a few jars of baby food. He appeared in front of Kathleen penitently, extending his offerings in a plastic grocery bag. Kathleen forgave him; she was still infatuated with the baby. She even pretended she didn't mind about the baby food. "He can eat it in a few months," she'd smiled.

"He," Robby had smiled, but the prospect of having a baby. . . having an actual baby. . . scared him out of his mind. He was glad it was a boy. . . a girl would have been way worse. . . but the fact that the squalling little creature in the bed was his son, his baby, was the most terrifying fact he'd ever faced. He wanted to ask if Kathleen was sure it was his, but he knew she'd flip out at him.

"I think he has your eyes," Kathleen cooed. Most babies are born with blue eyes, and it wasn't until Kevin was nearly two months old that his eyes darkened to the color of his mother's. "Blue."

"Yeah," Robby noted, wanting to leave. "I bet he'll look like you," Kathleen adjusted the baby's blankets.

"Yeah." Robby glanced toward the door. "Yeah, well. I should go. I'm kind of. . . busy."

"You have to?" Kathleen looked crestfallen. "Already?"

"Yeah," Robby agreed, nodding. "Maybe I should get. . . diapers and stuff." (And really, really drunk, he thought.)

"Oh." Kathleen's voice was tiny. "Oh. . . okay, then." She tried to smile. "You're busy."

"Yeah, well. . ." Robby began. "Yeah. Anyway, I'll go do. . . the stuff I have to do." He had never been as good a liar as his son would turn out to be. "I'll. . . maybe I'll be back later."

"Oh." Kathleen nodded. "Oh. . . okay." She wished Robby would stay. She willed him to stay. But the one thing Kathleen had learned in the year they'd been together was that it was impossible to make Robby do anything he didn't want; to force him to please anyone except himself.

"I'm not some frickin' Gandhi," he'd say. Kathleen didn't know who Gandhi was, but the name conjured images of self-sacrifice and tireless devotion. Two things, Kathleen reflected, she did not see much of in Robby. In those days, though, she'd been hesitant to concentrate on any of his shortcomings, and she tried not to let them bother her.

"You don't have to stay," Kathleen had offered.

"Okay, baby, I'd better go then." Robby had given her a quick kiss on the forehead, chucked the baby under the chin, and was gone. It was at that moment that Kathleen realized, shocking even herself, that she'd rather have Robby than the baby. If the baby was going to come between them, Robby's affection was more important to her than her love for the baby, who couldn't respond to love she gave him anyway. Kathleen had taken a deep breath, holding her son a bit closer. She couldn't let herself think like that, she thought. She had to keep them both close to her, keep all three of them together. Robby would love the baby as soon as he got used to him.

And it was true that Robby did love the baby. He never knew what to do when Kevin cried, he didn't know how to feed him, he refused to change diapers, but he'd stand above the crib and look down at the baby, marvel at him, and show him off to his friends. . . at least until the novelty wore off. Eventually, Robby was the one to suggest they have another one. Kathleen, hoping another child would prove to be the bond that would connect to Robby forever, agreed whole-heartedly.

When Andy was born, though, Robby didn't even bother to come by the hospital. The baby was three weeks early, the scrawniest baby Kathleen had ever seen, but also the loudest. Andy screamed constantly. He didn't gain weight, he didn't get any bigger, and when Kathleen took him to the clinic to see what was wrong they loaded her down with all sorts of fancy formulas and told her to feed him every two hours. Kathleen was exhausted, irritable, overworked and desperate. Increasingly, Robby found fewer and fewer reasons to be home.

In frustration, Kathleen had taken the boys and moved into her mother's house. Her mother was unused to babies. . . in fact, she found all children under twelve very difficult to tolerate. . . and Andy's incessant shrieking only added to the tension. When Robby had shown up, a sorrowful look in his eyes, promising to reform himself if only she'd take him back, Kathleen had relented. The baby was older now; a bit bigger and comparatively calmer, and Kevin, during the months of living with his grandmother, had become a quiet, watchful little boy, alert to any sound or behavior that would "make Grandma mad." Kathleen hadn't considered why her oldest son was prenaturally silent, compared to other kids his age, but it was a relief to her. . . as long as he wasn't making noise, she appreciated it.

Kathleen shook her head guiltily. In spite of- or maybe because of- the fact that Kevin didn't cause much trouble, she'd never been very tolerant with him. He learned early that if he misbehaved, he'd have to deal with the consequences. . . usually whichever punishment his mother thought of first.

You weren't supposed to spank two year olds, Kathleen knew now, or lock them in closets, or tie them to chairs or beds. You weren't supposed to send them out to the playground to play by themselves, or ask them to watch the baby so you could run out to the store. You weren't supposed to go away for a few days and leave them with the baby so that you could get high. There were so many things she would have done differently, if she had had the chance to go back and do them again.

Even now, she thought, Kevin didn't trust her. She saw him watching her out of the corners of his eyes, felt his body stiffen whenever she touched him. Kathleen could scarcely look at him sometimes; his very presence reminded her of everything she knew she'd done wrong. The guilt Kathleen felt was overwhelming; she was the one who'd taught Kevin not to trust. She was the one who'd introduced him to everything most eight year olds shouldn't have had to know about. It was her fault, inescapably hers. Robby had been smart. . . he'd gotten out before he could inflict any physical damage on his sons. Kathleen was the one who bore that burden, and she bore it alone.

At the same time, Kevin was the one who enraged her the most. There were times, when she was drunk or high, or just so depressed and overwhelmed she couldn't even see straight, that she couldn't stand him at all, that he could have disappeared entirely and she never would have noticed. Kathleen knew that Kevin was everything she wasn't; that somehow she had raised a son who was far more capable than she was, who could accept far more responsibility than she could, and who was, she knew, deep in her soul, a better person than she was. Kathleen didn't understand where Kevin had come from, how he'd become the person he was, and she found herself wondering if maybe his better qualities came from Robby. The thought that any of her sons could have turned out like their absentee father enraged her and a demon burned away inside Kathleen. She wanted to destroy anything that was part of Robby, that even might have been part of Robby. Sometimes, when she allowed this part of her soul to take over her body, she couldn't even see her children as her children anymore. She didn't know what she was doing to them; it wouldn't necessarily occur to her that she might have hurt them until long after she'd already done it.

In truth, Kevin wasn't much like his father. . . at least, not the person his father had turned out to be. Robby had run away from reality, while Kevin, afraid or not, forced himself to face it. Robby lied to himself and to everyone else, making excuses to justify the things he knew in his heart to be unjustifiable. Kevin was honest with himself, at least- if he made up stories to protect himself and his brothers from forces that might otherwise tear them apart, he still knew that he was lying. Most importantly, Robby had run from responsibility, while Kevin had accepted way more than he should have had.

Kevin didn't do these things because he was some kind of saint, or, in fact, because of any sort of qualities he'd inherited or learned from his parents. Kevin did them because he knew, deep down inside himself, that if he didn't do them, nobody would. More than anything else in the world, Kevin wished that he could let somebody else be in charge for a change, but there was no one he trusted enough to want to relinquish his authority to. Not even Troy and Sharpay had earned that much of his faith. His mother, long ago, had lost any hope of gaining it back. If anything, Kevin knew, he should be taking care of his mother.

Kathleen relied heavily upon her oldest son, hating herself for doing it and hating him for seeming capable of letting her. She felt that he had somehow gained control of Andy and Zac; that they were more his kids than they were hers. She felt the loss, unsure of what was required of her, of how she could get them back. At the same time, she didn't know if she wanted the responsibility of them. Three kids was way too many, she thought again. I should have stopped before any of them were born.

Especially Zac, she thought. Why did I think I could handle another one? It had been a month before Robby left that Kathleen had discovered she was pregnant, and she had kept the information to herself, wondering how to tell him. She had hoped the news would make him stay; she was still naive enough to believe it would.

In fact, Robby had left the night she told him, a Sunday in early May when the air had crackled with electricity in anticipation of a coming storm. "How could you have let that happen?" Robby had asked, lacking the energy even to fight. "That was really stupid."

He was gone by the morning.

When Zac had been born, Kathleen had wanted nothing more than for it to be over; her lack of interest in the baby was incredible. She didn't even name him until she couldn't put it off any longer, and then she'd asked the people at the social services office to pick one out. Kevin was four by then; nearly five; he'd been the one responsible for the other two most of the time. When Kathleen's abusive boyfriend had directed his attention from her to the kids, Kevin had been the one who kept Zac from being hurt, but he couldn't save Andy. Or himself. They'd taken the kids away again that time, Kathleen thought, ripped them apart just when they'd begun to rely on each other the most. The separation nearly killed them. . . Andy hadn't talked for months, Kevin wouldn't let either of his brothers out of his sight after they were reunited, and Zac, who had become strongly attached to the family that had taken care of him, was terrified to find himself deposited amongst people he thought were strangers. That was wrong, Kathleen thought. That was cruel. And the worst part was, she hadn't been the one who screwed up that time. It had been her psychotic boyfriend, who'd ended up having numerous other abuse charges pressing on him at the time he was arrested. If she'd only known. . . if she'd only made a different decision. . . so much could have changed.

Kathleen looked at her sons now and felt awful. She'd talked to a lot of people during the past few weeks and tried to work out why she felt the way she did, and what she could do to change her behavior. She'd never had so many people who wanted to help her, but she was terrified she wouldn't be able to live up to their expectations. In fact, she was sure she would screw up. It was only a matter of when.

"Mommy?" Andy sat down next to her on the bed, cradling Baby Manda in his arms. "Was I like this when I was a baby?"

"Huh?" It took a long time before Kathleen realized what he'd asked her. "Uh, yeah. You cried a lot."

"I did?" Andy traced Baby Manda's mouth with his finger.

"Mmm hmm." Kathleen nodded, staring into space.

"Oh." Andy held Baby Manda at arm's length and inspected her carefully. He'd never had a doll before, and he didn't want anything to happen to this one.


	19. letter

Dear Readers,

Dear Readers,

I usually abhor chaptered authors notes, but I find myself in a position that requires one. I am unfortunately leaving Fanfiction for the foreseeable future. It has been a wonderful 5 ½ years on this site, and even longer in the general fanfic world—I read my first story in 1997 or 98!

_Elsewhere _is going to remain unfinished, for the time being. Right now I really have to focus on my own family, my own children, and their father. Hopefully I will return someday—maybe when this next baby comes—but don't count on it.

I want to thank my readers, and troypazash and ascii27 in particular. You all have been spectacularly supportive and kind.

Thank you so much,

margaret


	20. Chapter 18

**AN: So I changed my mind. I couldn't leave it as is. In other news, it's another freaking boy. Don't tell him I said that. Also, I have 3 months of reading to catch up on. Any suggestions?**

**Chapter 18**

"Cora and Chet go to the grocery store to buy apples," Troy read. "Cora buys 12 apples, and Chet buys 17. Cora gives Chet some apples, so that Chet has 23 apples. How many apples does Cora give to Chet? How many apples does she have left over?" He sighed. "Kev, are you paying any attention at all to me?"

"How come kids in math problems have such stupid names?" Kevin demanded, frowning. He was irritated with Cora and Chet already. "What are they buying apples for? Why can't they figure out for themselves how many apples they have?"

"Kev. . . I don't know," Troy sighed. "But your teacher really wants you to get this work done before school starts, and so it would be better if we just concentrated on the problems."

"How come they can't count their apples themselves?" Kevin asked.

"The faster we get them done, the more time you'll have to do whatever you want," Troy pointed out.

"Who, in the entire world, needs twenty three apples?" Kevin scowled.

"Chet has twenty-two friends coming over," Troy supplied. "They're going to bob for apples."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "See? See how stupid they are?"

"Kevin. . ." Troy groaned.

"Chet buys twenty-three apples. . . wasting a bunch of money. . . when all he and his friends are going to do is go over to Bob's four apples," Kevin explained. "What in the world do they need twenty three apples for, if Bob already has four?"

"KEVIN!" Troy slammed the math book shut and smacked himself in the forehead with it.

"I just don't get it," Kevin went on. "What does Bob want with apples? If I were Bob, and I had Chet for a friend, I'd make new friends. I couldn't stand anyone as dumb as Chet." He shook his head. "And you know what? How much do you want to bet that Chet makes Bob count all his apples for him? Because we all know Chet's to stupid to do it himself."

"Kevin," Troy said, struggling to stay patient, "Let's not worry about this now. Let's spare ourselves the strain of dwelling upon it for even a moment. Let's just forget about Chet and Cora and do the math."

It was December twenty-seventh, the day after the boys had gotten back from the half-way house. Sharpay had returned to work, Zac was taking a nap, and Andy was playing an elaborate game that involved Baby Manda being kidnapped and hidden behind the couch, while all four Ninja Turtles struggled to rescue her. It was a quiet afternoon, the perfect time, Troy thought, to catch up on the packet of worksheets Mrs. Schafly had sent home with Kevin. Had he known what he was getting himself into, he probably would have reconsidered. After half an hour, they had completed three problems, with Kevin complaining every step of the way. Troy, who had never been much of a math person either, was ready to throw in the towel and get Sharpay to help Kevin. In fact, he was about three seconds away from doing it.

"I don't care how many apples they have," Kevin grumbled. "Or how many apples Bob has. Or how many friends they're going to have over for dinner, either."

"Okay, so don't think about it." Troy gritted his teeth. "Kevin. Let's write this down. You have 17 apples. How many apples do you need to add to that to have twenty-three apples?"

"What do you need twenty-three apples for?" Kevin demanded.

"Because you have to do math problems!" Troy bellowed.

Kevin looked up at him. "Are you mad?"

"No," Troy assured him, through clenched teeth.

"You sound mad," Kevin observed.

"I'm not mad!" Troy insisted.

"But you sound-" Kevin began.

"Kevin," Troy told him, calmly but forcefully, "I am not mad. I'm frustrated. I'm sure you're frustrated, too. There's a difference between being frustrated and being mad."

"Jeez," Kevin observed, shaking his head. "I never thought you'd get mad at me." He said this pleasantly and with absolute conviction. There was no trace of malice or accusation in his voice. "You'd need five apples. And twelve take-away five is. . . eight?"

"One less," Troy told him, feeling guilty, on one hand, that Kevin thought he'd been angry with him. On the other hand, Troy reflected, Kevin's feelings obviously weren't hurt. In fact, he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Seven." Kevin wrote the number in the correct blank on the worksheet and read the next problem. "Flora has ten apples. Alice gives her three, Boris gives her two, Lance gives her three, and Xavier gives her seven. How many apples does Flora have now?" Dutifully, Kevin listed the numbers and began adding them together. "You don't have to help me if you don't want, Troy. I mean, I'm not really good at math? But I can do this stuff. It's just word problems."

"Are you going to do them?" Troy asked. "Or are you going to complain about the names of the people in the word problems?"

"I'll do 'em," Kevin promised.

"Okay." Troy nodded and rose to his feet. "Ask me if you need help on anything. And maybe you should take a break as soon as you finish this page. I mean, it's your vacation, too. You shouldn't spend the whole time working."

"It's okay," Kevin assured him. "It really is." He looked down at the paper and started on the next problem. He hadn't wanted to tell Troy, but it was hard to work when someone was standing over you, watching every move you made.

The phone rang. Troy glanced back at Kevin and turned to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey." It was Sharpay. She sounded like she had something to tell him. "I have something to tell you."

"What?" Troy asked.

"Well, I got a call from the social worker today." Sharpay took a deep breath. "They've found a program for Kathleen."

"I thought she was already in a program." Troy knew what was lying beneath Sharpay's words, the truth she hadn't told him yet. He didn't want to face up to it.

"This is a different kind of program." Sharpay paused. "This is a program for women who are working overcoming drug addictions and trying to get their lives back in order. Every part of their lives, Troy."

Troy swallowed. "What are you saying?"

"The focus of the program, in fact, what makes this program so different," Sharpay told him, "is that mothers can live with their children while they're completing job training and counseling."

"Oh. . ." Troy felt as if something inside of him had deflated. He could have kicked himself. He'd known, from the beginning, that this moment was coming.

"The good thing," Sharpay said, trying to sound cheerful, "is that it's a really good, really effective program. The failure rate is only fifteen percent."

"Is that good?" Troy wondered, aloud.

"Yeah." Sharpay's voice was quiet. "Yeah, they have an eighty-five percent success rate."

"When are they. . ." Troy began, wanting to know, and yet not wanting to know. It was like being informed of the date of your own death. You might think you wanted to know it, but you'd drive yourself crazy worrying about it beforehand. Either way, there was probably nothing you could do to change it.

"Not until some time in January." Sharpay took a shaky breath. "They said we were lucky, Troy. A lot of kids in foster care are moved from place to place very quickly, and without much warning. At least they're giving us time to be prepared. . ."

"Right," Troy agreed, softly.

"Troy. . ." Sharpay began, "We still have a few weeks."

"I know," Troy agreed.

"We knew this was going to happen," Sharpay repeated, without conviction. "We knew it."

"We knew it," Troy sighed. "We did know. . ."

------------------------

Troy and Sharpay decided to tell the boys that night, to give them a few days to adjust to the idea before Kevin and Andy started back to school again. Zac was too little to understand exactly what they meant and telling five-year-old Andy that something was going to happen in three weeks was pretty much the same as telling him it was going to happen in a year or two, but Kevin had a lot of questions.

"What is this place, exactly?"

"What is she going to do there?"

"What are we going to do there?"

"Is she allowed to have a boyfriend while she's there?"

"What happens if she leaves us again, while we're there?"

No one knew what to tell him. Mary, the boys' social worker, was bogged down with a high number of cases and wasn't able to explain many specifics of the program, and no one had even told Troy and Sharpay what it was called. Kathleen was going through intense therapy and rehabilitation, preparing herself for life in a less structured environment, and could be reached only through another social worker, and only when she felt like responding.

For Troy and Sharpay, this was a difficult time, for the boys, especially Zac, a confusing one.

On the day Kevin and Andy started school again, Zac appeared in the doorway of Troy's work room while Troy was working. He leaned against the doorframe, his thumb in his mouth and his brown eyes solemn. It was awhile before Troy looked over his shoulder and realized Zac was standing there. "Hey, buddy. Whatcha doing?"

Zac took his thumb out of his mouth. "Am I going away?"

Troy took a deep breath. He held out his arms. "Zac, come here a second."

"Am I going away?" Zac repeated, climbing into Troy's lap. "Somewhere else?"

Troy nodded. "Yeah, in a few weeks you and Andy and Kevin are going to go live with your mommy again."

"Where will you live?" Zac looked up at Troy.

"I'm going to live here," Troy told him.

"Where are we going to live?" Zac asked.

"In a special place where you can live with your mommy while she gets some help," Troy explained.

"Why does she need help?" Zac inquired, after a long pause.

"Because. . ." Troy began, thinking. "Because she used to. . ."

"Because she used to go away," Zac finished, dreamily. "You're going away."

"I'm not going anywhere," Troy swallowed the tremendous mix of emotions that was rising in his chest. "I'll always be right here."

"So we can come back?" Zac wondered.

"You might not want to come back," Troy told him, testingly. "Maybe you'll want to stay with your mommy."

"But what if she doesn't want to stay with us?" Zac asked him.

"She will this time, Zac," Troy assured him, hoping it was the truth. "She will."

Zac nodded. "Okay. When can I come and see you?"

"Zac. . ." Troy felt his throat constrict. "I don't know if you'll be able to do that."

"Why?" Zac asked.

"Because sometimes. . ." Troy wondered how to explain it. "Sometimes the people in charge don't think it's a very good idea."

"I think it's a good idea," Zac offered.

"Me too," Troy agreed. "And I hope we can see each other again. But if we don't, I'll still be thinking about you, okay?"

Zac nodded. "Okay."

"And if we don't get to see each other, it'll be because your mommy will be taking such good care of you that you won't even want to see me."

"I will want to see you," Zac told him.

"But, you know, if it doesn't work out," Troy advised him, "it'll be okay."

"It'll be okay," Zac repeated.

"It'll be okay," Troy finished.

------------------------

It was only two days later that they hauled Kevin into the principal's office for fighting. He was sitting on the steps at recess, absently watching a group of kids make snow angels, when Charlie Wright, the class bully, sidled up next to him, tailed by the three smaller boys who made up his posse.

"Hey," Charlie sneered. "Is it true what I heard?"

Kevin's eyes slid toward him. "What'd you hear?"

"That your Mom's on drugs." Charlie popped his gum. "That's she's in some mental hospital place for freaks."

Kevin stiffened. "She's not in a mental hospital."

"Well, a place for freaks, then." Charlie shrugged.

"Your dad's in jail," Kevin pointed out.

"At least I have one," Charlie shot back, but he felt a twinge of sadness. His father was in jail. His father had been in jail for three years, and he'd never been to see him. Sometimes, Charlie felt like he didn't have a father.

Charlie drew himself to his full height. Kevin wasn't going to get away with talking about his father.

"You know what? Your mother's crazy. You're probably crazy, too. Craziness runs in families."

Kevin took a deep, shaky breath. What if he did turn out like his mother? He'd worried about that a lot, and Charlie was doing nothing to assauge his fears.

"You're going to be just as screwed up as she is, and you'll probably leave your kids, too." Charlie smiled. "Then again, if you were my kid. . . I'd leave, too."

Kevin stood up. He was just a little bit shorter than Charlie, but about thirty pounds lighter. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"See, most parents stick around," Charlie went on. "But not if they hate their kids. And parents don't hate their kids without a reason."

"That's not true," Kevin defended.

"It is so." Charlie folded his arms and smiled smugly. "Of course it's true."

Kevin turned to walk away. He couldn't listen to this anymore. He felt like he was about to cry. He blinked a few times, angry with himself. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't.

"What, you aren't going to even do anything?" Charlie demanded. This was highly unfulfilling. "Get back here."

Kevin didn't turn around.

"Get back here!" Charlie bellowed. He flew at Kevin, pounding across the snow-dusted asphalt.

The next thing Kevin knew, he was on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Charlie must have tackled me, he realized, dazed.

"Hey!" Charlie bellowed. He was supposed to be the one beating Kevin up, not the other way around. He'd underestimated his victim. Kevin was fighting off Charlie's three toadies and pummeling Charlie at the same time.

"Boys!" The yard teacher, Mrs. Lorenzo, had been summoned by one of the girls and was attempting to pull Kevin and Charlie apart. Charlie, by this point, was no longer attempting to contain the tears that streamed down his face, mixing with the blood that trickled from his nose. Kevin had scraped his chin when Charlie had knocked him to the pavement and one of his eyes was swelling rapidly. He wasn't finished yet, however, seething as he tried to break out of Mrs. Lorenzo's grip.

"Let me go!" he demanded. "Let me go!"

"Kevin, you calm down this instant," Mrs. Lorenzo commanded. "I am not letting you go until you can behave like a normal person. I am sending you both to the principal's office."

"He started it!" Charlie wailed. He and Kevin were sitting in Mr. Martinez's office, and the eight-year-old bully was sobbing openly. "I was walking along the playground, minding my own business, and he came out of nowhere and started beating me up! He said my mother was a freak and my father was in jail and he wanted to kill me!" Charlie was so worked up that he never doubted the authenticity of his story for a moment.

"Kevin," Mr. Martinez said, "is this true?"

Kevin sighed. His arms folded across his chest, he was staring out the window, scowling. He wouldn't make eye contact with Mr. Martinez.

"Kevin," Mr. Martinez warned, "you have to talk to me."

Kevin didn't answer him.

"Kevin!" Mr. Martinez snapped. "This is no way to behave."

If looks could kill, Mr. Martinez would have been dead, embalmed and buried beneath a seven foot tall marble monument. He shook his head.

"Kevin, I don't know what I am going to do with you. I don't know whether or not Charlie is telling the truth, and you won't tell me your side of the story."

"It doesn't matter what my side of the story is," Kevin glowered, his teeth clenched.

"Why not?" inquired Mr. Martinez. "I would be interested in hearing it."

"Why do you care?" Kevin burst out.

"Because I don't want to believe that you're the type of kid who runs around attacking other kids," Mr. Martinez told him. "It would be awful to imagine that."

"Well, that's what I did," Kevin said. "That's the kind of person I am."

Mr. Martinez was taken aback, unsure of whether or not to believe him. "How come you never were like this before?"

"Because I didn't feel like it." Kevin frowned.

"Is that so?" Mr. Martinez asked.

"Yeah," Kevin agreed.

Charlie was amazed. He'd expected Kevin to deny having beaten him up. . . and here he was taking credit for starting the whole thing. Yay! thought Charlie. I won't get in trouble now!

"I'm going to call your foster parents," Mr. Martinez told Kevin. "And Charlie, I'm going to call your mother."

"How come you're going to call my mom?" Charlie whined.

"Because I don't believe that you were walking along the playground and Kevin suddenly attacked you." Mr. Martinez had seen a lot of Charlie Wright during the past few years and knew what he was like. "And Kevin, I don't believe you're telling me the truth."

"Don't call my mother," Charlie begged. "Please don't. She'll send me to my room! She'll ground me."

"You know what my mother would do to me if she found out I was fighting with someone?" Kevin demanded.

Mr. Martinez and Charlie both turned to him at the same time. "What?"

Kevin swallowed, surprised at their interest. I'm in deep trouble, he thought. Do I have to tell now? "Not Sharpay," he clarified. "My real mother."

"What would she do?" Mr. Martinez asked again, gently.

"More than just ground me!" Kevin exclaimed. He crossed his arms and studied the floor. He knew what his mother would do. It wasn't anyone else's business. . .

Mr. Martinez took a deep breath. "Charles," he said, "why don't you step out into the hall for a moment. You can wait on the bench outside the door."

Charlie got up, sniveling. "Don't tell my mother," he pleaded. "She won't let me watch TV tonight."

"We'll see what happens," Mr. Martinez told him. "Go," he added, sternly. He watched Charlie disappear through the door, then turned his attention back to Kevin. He paused, thinking.

"Kevin, you aren't living with your mother right now," he said, gently. "Is that right?"

Kevin nodded, kicking at the nubby carpet with the toe of his sneaker.

"And your mother is in a counseling program right now?"

Kevin nodded again. He was clenching the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Kevin," Mr. Martinez went on, carefully, "Why did you fight with Charlie? Is his story true? Did you come out of nowhere and start beating him up?"

Kevin swallowed. He didn't look up at Mr. Martinez.

"I've never had you in here for fighting before," Mr. Martinez continued. "I wouldn't want to think that you had become the type of person who starts fights." He paused. "Think about your little brother," he said. "Would you want Andy to think it was okay to get into fights with people?"

Kevin shook his head.

"What made you fight today?" Mr. Martinez asked.

Kevin sighed. "I didn't start it," he told Mr. Martinez, defeatedly.

"What happened?" Mr. Martinez prodded.

"I was sitting on the steps," Kevin said, "and he came up, and he was saying. . ." His eyes darkened as his voice trailed off.

"What was he saying?" Mr. Martinez asked, gently.

Kevin shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It obviously mattered enough to make you mad enough to fight him," Mr. Martinez pointed out.

"I was walking away," Kevin explained. "He was the one that hit me first."

"Why were you walking away?" Mr. Martinez encouraged.

"Because I didn't want to fight him!" Kevin defended.

"Well, that was admirable," Mr. Martinez agreed. "And he hit you?"

"He tackled me," Kevin said.

"Okay." Mr. Martinez nodded. "I see. Kevin, why don't you go wait outside. Send Charlie in."

Kevin nodded, rising to his feet. "Are you going to call Troy and Sharpay?"

"I don't think so," Mr. Martinez said. "Send Charlie in."

Kevin sat on the bench outside Mr. Martinez's office, where the two secretaries kept close watch over kids who were sent downstairs to be disciplined. Every once in awhile, one or the other would glance up from her typing to look at Kevin reproachfully. "Fighting," one tsked. "I don't know why you kids do it."

Kevin tried not to meet their eyes. He was wondering how he would explain his black eye to Troy and Sharpay. He was wondering how he would ever advise Andy and Zac not to fight with people again. But most of all, Kevin was wondering if what Charlie said had been true. Was he doomed to turn out just like his mother? What if he really tried to be different? Was he going to be just as bad as she was anyway?

Kevin was worried. He bit one fingernail down as far as it would go and started on another. No matter what he did, he was going to disappoint everybody. Why did he even bother trying to be different?

The door to Mr. Martinez's office opened. "You can go back to class now," Charlie sniffled. "We have to stay in for recess for the rest of the week."

Kevin nodded, studying the scar on his arm from where the cat had scratched him a few weeks ago.

"He's not going to call our parents," Charlie added. "But we have to apologize."

Kevin looked up at Charlie. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. But he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for the fight.

"I'm sorry," Charlie muttered, half-heartedly.

"That's good, boys," Mr. Martinez called. "I'm proud of you. "Now, shake hands. . ."

Reluctantly, Charlie and Kevin shook hands and went back to class. Just before they reached the door, Charlie turned to Kevin.

"I don't want to go back in there."

"Me neither," Kevin agreed.

"Maybe we should go hide somewhere," Charlie suggested.

"The bathroom?" Kevin asked.

Charlie nodded. "Good idea. We can wet toilet paper and throw it at the ceiling."

"So it sticks?" Kevin wondered. He'd never done that before, but he'd seen the wads of toilet paper that decorated the ceiling of the boys' bathroom.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, grinning.

Kevin shrugged. "Whatever you think."

Charlie pushed open the door to the bathroom. "It's fun."

The boys' bathroom smelled like cleaning fluid and the blue cakes of chalky material that were dissolving in the drains of the urinals. "I wonder why they put those things there," Kevin remarked. "I don't even know what they are."

"I think it's for having fun in the bathroom," Charlie informed him.

"When you pee on them, you can make little holes," Kevin grinned, nodding.

Charlie chuckled. "I know. Want to see who can make the biggest one?"

"Sure," Kevin agreed.

They chose urinals at opposite ends of the row and peed companionably. "I don't really have to go that much," Kevin told Charlie. "I went before recess. So you'll probably win."

"Yeah, I haven't gone since this morning before day care," Charlie concurred. "I mean, it's not like I'm a baby or anything. I do go to daycare, though, when my Grammy can't watch me."

"I don't think you're a baby." Kevin stood back, zipping his fly while he studied the cavity he'd eroded into the mysterious cake in the drain. "Lots of people go to daycare."

"Your hole is deeper than mine," Charlie observed, inspecting it, "but mine is wider."

"I'm sorry about what I said about your father," Kevin said. "I really am."

"That's okay." Charlie swallowed hard. "It's just that I miss him sometimes. I really do."

"I don't even have a father," Kevin informed him, cheerfully. "My father's been gone since I was four."

"Do you miss him?" Charlie asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No." He took a deep breath. "Well. . ."

"I missed my dad the most on parents' day," Charlie supplied.

"When everyone else's parents were there," Kevin agreed. "I mean, not everyone else's. But. . ."

"Most people had their mom there," Charlie said. "Or even their aunt. Or their grammy. But everyone in my family was working."

"My mom wouldn't come to something like that anyway," Kevin agreed.

"I just kept thinking. . ." Charlie began.

"That if you're father was around, maybe he would have been there," Kevin finished.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "I don't believe your mom's crazy, Kevin."

"She is crazy," Kevin sighed. "I don't want to go back and live with her."

"Why?" Charlie asked.

"Because she's always leaving," Kevin gazed out the window, resting his arm on the sill and his chin on his arm. "I don't want her to leave again. They say she's getting help, but I don't believe it."

"Why don't you believe it?" Charlie prodded.

"Because she's always been like this," Kevin told him. "I don't think she can change. And I just have a feeling. A bad feeling."

"What kind of bad feeling?" Charlie wanted to know.

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know," he murmured. "I just don't feel right about it."

"Probably it'll be okay," Charlie said. "My mom is pretty good, and my dad isn't around."

"Yeah, but my mom is different." Kevin shook his head.

"If it's that bad, maybe you can come and live with my Grammy," Charlie offered. "She likes kids."

Kevin smiled. "Thanks. That's okay, though."

"But what will you do?" Charlie wondered.

Kevin shrugged. "I don't know. I'll figure something out."


End file.
